


Xoana, or Cult Effigies

by Seselt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-07-24 12:16:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7507968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seselt/pseuds/Seselt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ministry in their great magnanimity has decided to release low risk Death Eaters into the custody of Muggle-borns for reeducation. Hermione will teach Draco and Theo all sorts of new things. They will teach her how to be free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Money with Menaces

Harry Potter stood with company on the doorstep of a nice semi-detached house in Kent. He knocked on the black lacquered door and tried to look innocuous. He was too tired and too aware of the paucity of their welcome to manage the appearance of respectability. Newchurch Road was an anonymous clone colony of middle class homes in the commuter belt. Someone would notice three men arriving on foot at quarter to ten at night. That someone probably had the Residents' Association and the police on speed dial.

Hermione answered the door wearing a set of plaid flannel pyjamas; a statement she was making precisely zero effort. She did let them in however, shutting the door with a slam and a glare. The front hallway merged into an open plan lounge and kitchen, making a large rectangular space that would have been inviting if there had been more furniture. There was exactly one table, one squashy love-seat and one cushion. Bookshelves covered every inch of wall, framing the windows and touching the ceiling.

“I have lodged an official protest with the DMLE.” Hermione informed Auror Potter. He nodded. She'd told him she would. She'd refused, objected, requested, demanded and finally outright shouted in the streets.

“I know.” Harry agreed on a sigh. The witch had limited the vitriol she had directed at him for the sake of their friendship but she had left him in no doubt as to her opinion of the Ministry's Integration and Mentoring Program. He held out a red trimmed scroll and when she refused to take it, Harry tapped the parchment on her right hand. It transfigured itself onto two rings on her forefinger, a match to the bracelets on the wrists of the two wizards behind him.

“This is little better than extortion. There's insufficient oversight.” She hissed, clenching her fists. “The parole criteria are farcical.”

“I know.” He agreed again. “But there's nothing we can do about it right now.” Harry met her furious stare. “Give it time. Once the Reconstruction's complete, the Ministry will be in less of a panic about their bottom line.”

“They've got their heads up their bottom line.” Hermione snapped though she gave him a reluctant nod. The appeals process had been stymied but there were still avenues to pursue. Patience not passion was necessary for progress. She knew that, didn't like it and did not intend to sit on her hands a moment longer than needed.

“Can you manage or would you like me to stay?” Harry asked. Ginny had just got home from touring. They hadn't seen each other for weeks. He still asked, though. Hermione shook her head. She'd manage and the Aurors had been run ragged providing security and transport as well as their standard duties. He Disapparated, leaving her with two Ministry mandated house guests in Azkaban grey.

“Right.” The witch drew in a deep, slow breath. “Malfoy, Nott, welcome to my home.” They stared at her, dazed and uncertain after a long day of prodding. The aftermath of the suppression rituals had probably drained them of any impetus to do anything, Hermione presumed. She moderated her tone. “Would you like to eat or bathe first?”

“Eat.” Malfoy said dully.

“We're clean.” Nott seemed to be more aware. “They made sure.”

“I bet they did.” Hermione relaxed her mouth from its grim line. “A nice hot bath is better than a Scourgify.” They stood there, eyes on her and waiting. Watching for the first twitch of aggression or non-verbal cue to how they were to behave. She deliberately slowed down her movements so she didn't startle them, conjured two chairs and pointed to the table. “Sit down there. I'll bring you dinner.”

She hadn't made soup for them. She'd made it because chopping things into itty bitty bits had been soothing. Hermione had Silenced her kitchen and gone at the carrots with a cleaver. There was probably something Freudian in that but the transferred violence had helped rein in her temper. But cream of vegetable soup was easy on stomachs accustomed to the calorie and nutrient deficient slop they'd got in prison.

There was no conversation over dinner. The two wizards ate mechanically, scraping every last drop out of their bowls but not asking for more. Hermione wouldn't have given them a second serving until she was sure they could keep it down. She planned to feed them soup, bread and fruit for a couple of days until they were used to normal food again then she'd let them loose on whatever they wanted. Neither had been bulky before their incarceration. Both looked gaunt now.

“Bath?” Hermione asked when they'd finished eating. They shook their heads. She escorted them upstairs to what had been her office and spare bedroom. Small rooms, both. “I've visited Azkaban. I know how cramped the cells are. I don't want to shut you away.” She tried to look them in the eye. Malfoy's gaze was on the floor. Nott stared blankly at her.

Some bruised sense of compassion or displaced camaraderie prompted her to take them to the large and airy master suite. She transfigured her bed into two singles then cast Warming Charms on them. Her guests tucked themselves in. She charmed the ceiling with a night-light spell so the room wouldn't be pitch black when she turned the light off. Hermione shut the door quietly.

The bed in her repurposed office was comfortable. Her parents had urged her to never skimp on mattresses. Hermione slept poorly however, which was not unusual, and woke at dawn to Crookshanks staring down at her in the classic 'slave, make breakfast' posture of hungry cats. She got up, used the guest bathroom down the hall then went downstairs to appease her feline overlord.

Breakfast was muesli and yoghurt. Vast fry-ups with all the trimmings were a relic of the Burrow. Now she had her own place, she could start the day as she wished; gently and quietly. Crookshanks ate with her in the kitchen, crouched by her feet as she stared out the window at her neglected garden. She really should do something with it. The front of her house had been paved by some past philistine but the back had scope for horticulture.

And now she had plenty of time and help for gardening, Hermione thought bitterly.

At eight o'clock, she padded upstairs to knock on her bedroom door. When no one answered, she peeked inside. Malfoy and Nott were curled up together in one of the beds with all the blankets from both. Hermione crept over to her chest of drawers to pull out some clothes for what looked like a blustery early spring day.

“What are we to do here?” Nott's voice was hoarse and soft, from disuse and intent to allow Malfoy to continue sleeping. Hermione turned around slowly but the dawdling for time didn't give her any more wit.

“I don't know. Whatever you want.” Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “As per Ministry guidelines. Those arse-holes sent over a streamer of conditions and guff. I'm supposed to make you read it.” She had read it and could only recommend the documentation as a sedative. “Basically, you're my pets until I can prove you've reformed yourselves.” Hermione noticed he shrunk a little into the bedding at the harshness of her tone. “I'm sorry. I tried everything I could think of to get them to reconsider the IMP but they wouldn't listen.”

“We were told we couldn't leave the house.” He had tried to pay attention to the po-faced bureaucrat who had read the terms of their release but the words had dribbled together into meaninglessness. Theo remembered standing there shaking as Unspeakables cast spells on him he didn't recognise then being shoved through a Floo. Potter had been there. “How long has it been?”

“Three and a half years. It's the seventh of March, 2002.” Hermione supplied then told herself to grasp the nettle. “You can't leave the house without my permission or presence, and I cannot give my permission until you've fulfilled at least half of your parole criteria. Which I have to submit to the Ministry for confirmation.” She consciously relaxed, rolling a stiff neck. “The current waiting list for approval is nine weeks.”

“But we can leave with you.” Theo concentrated. It had been so long since he had to pay attention to anything that it was a challenge. He had endured Azkaban by ignoring everything, letting himself drift into his own thoughts. He had never been particularly sociable so being in his own company was no penance. Now though, he needed to notice things. “In your presence, you said.”

“Yes.” She confirmed. “The two of you are on the Restricted Access List, which means there is a whole raft of places we can't go but I thought I could show you around the neighbourhood when you're up for a stroll.” Hermione thought her offer sounded feebly wet and shrugged. “Although I doubt you believe me, I would like to help you and Malfoy.”

“Draco.” He said, sharing his friend's name as a precious possession. “Call him Draco. Call me Theo. In that place it was always 'Prisoner Nott' or 'Prisoner Malfoy'. Our names spat like curses.” The words came out in a rush before he could stuff them down.

“In that case, I'm Hermione.” Hermione said, holding out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.” 

Theo looked at her hand then cautiously extended his own. They shook on it, being wretchedly civilised. He subsided into the cocoon of blankets. The witch fell silent. He could read her like a scroll. She was feeling awkward now as though she had intruded on something.

“You and Draco.” She didn't hesitate over the personal name. “I can put the bed back together, if you'd prefer.” Solitary confinement was standard policy at Azkaban. There were no conjugal visits and advocates were limited to one meeting a month. Relationships between prisoners were non-existent. Hermione didn't want to stand in the way of them rebuilding whatever they'd had.

“We're not.” Theo looked down at the blond curled against him. His fingers strayed to Draco's hair, brushing it off his forehead. “We're the same.” He'd forgotten too many words to explain properly.

“I understand.” Hermione thought of the months in the tent, of the misery after Ron left. She and Harry had huddled together for warmth and for reassurance that the endless bloody slog would cease some day. “I bought you some clothes. Tracksuits, t-shirts and pants. I wasn't sure of your sizes. I'll put them in here.”

She left before Theo could find something to say in reply. He slid down into the nest of warmth, shuddering at the exertion of an ordinary conversation. He was sweating. Wiping a hand across his forehead he stared at the moisture on his fingers before blotting his face in the soft cotton of the pillowcase. All the linen smelled of violets and the sunshine charms Granger used to dry them. He closed his eyes, meaning only to compose himself but sleep ambushed him.

Hermione spent a pleasant day pretending she was alone in the house. Crookshanks assisted in this by napping on his cushion, disinterested in the guests or the parchments his witch had spread across the table. When the sun had moved so it shone on the polished oak he would investigate it but that would be later. By then she would've capped the inkwell and finished her tea, which meant it was time to adore him.

Right now, Hermione did not feel well disposed towards anyone. She had reread the IMP guidelines and had made a list of the suggested activities. Someone who had lived or yearned for an adventurous life had put a lot of effort into finding ways to spend Death Eater money. From abseiling to zoo excursions, all on the parolees' dime. That was a nice incentive to immerse the prisoners' in Muggle life.

Someone else, likely involved in the budgeting crisis, had included helpful pamphlets on the licenses and permissions fees required to junket about the UK with a felon. A tithe to the Ministry for providing such a wonderful opportunity to educate and enlighten the hidebound. Hermione did a quick tally of what it would cost to take Theo and Draco on a hypothetical daytrip to the Isle of Man.

Leaving the house they could do for free. Crossing the ten mile inclusion limit was a modest five Galleons. Crossing the fifty mile limit was one hundred Galleons, with a Sickle for each mile exceeding fifty. Per parolee. Due to an treaty with the Lords of Man, the island was considered legally overseas despite being part of the Union so that was another tidy sum for the Ministry. Hermione added it all up and got a little angrier.

The wizards came cautiously down the stairs at one o'clock driven by hunger. Freshly washed, tousled dry and changed into the oversized fleecy tracksuits, they looked like foundlings. Seeing them standing on the last step awaiting her reaction, ready to cringe or run back to their cell, made her rage curdle into something poisonous.

“Are you hungry?” Hermione asked gently. Of course they were but she wanted to converse with them, help them ground themselves. Theo stepped forward, holding Draco's hand to tow him along. They walked to the table to make an attempt at civilised discourse.

“The soup you gave us yesterday was good.” Theo paused abruptly, disconcerted by the sound of his voice. His eyes strayed to the parchment covering the table. “From the Ministry?” Glancing up at her and seeing no threat, he picked up one of the missives. Frowning at the grainy, uneven finish he sniffed the sheet. “What did they dehair this with? Old beer and rotten vegetables?”

“Quite possibly. They're cutting costs wherever they can. The Ministry is switching to paper for everything but writs.” The latest batch of parchment bought by the Logistics and Purchasing Department had been little better than rawhide. Employees had started bringing in their own supply from home. “Hence your early release. Without the free labour of the Dementors, the cost of running Azkaban has soared.”

“We got two meals of gruel a day and a cold cell.” The heir of the House of Nott spat the words, startling himself with his own vehemence. Wherever the money the Ministry was pouring into the wizarding prison was going, it wasn't to the comfort of the prisoners. Until the Aurors had hauled him out, he hadn't been clean in months.

“You can look this over yourselves. I'll get you something to eat.” Hermione offered, rising slowly. They were like wild animals, defensive and easily alarmed. She couldn't blame them. If her magic had been forcibly suppressed and she'd been handed over to an enemy, she'd be skittish too. They tracked her traverse to the kitchen.

“Granger.” Draco said as if noticing her for the first time. She straightened, regarding him with a neutral expression. The wizard seemed concussed. “My mother?” He asked fighting the gloom for his voice. “Is she?”

“Narcissa was released two months ago to her sister Andromeda. They're in France with Teddy.” She didn't hesitate in giving him that information although 'custodians' were cautioned not to gossip with their charges. The unspoken suggestion to be economical with the truth didn't sit right with Hermione either. “Your mother's health was very poor but she is getting better. I saved your aunt's letters so you can read them.”

“Aunt?” He asked, a spike of fear stabbing into his spine. He had an aunt. She was insane. He could hear her laughing, a high, shrill cackle like a Crucio. Draco trembled, his mind filling with echoes of Bellatrix's Occlumency lessons.

When the darkness cleared, he was lying on the floor with his head pillowed on someone's shoulder. He was shivering and someone else was tucking a soft blanket around him. Draco hoped he hadn't fainted in the Common Room. Zabini would never let him live it down and Pansy had done something terrible to her hair. He blinked at the girl who was wrapping him against the cold. She wasn't Parkinson.

“You are alright.” Hermione spoke in a calm, even voice, repeating the mantra she told herself when she woke shaking at three in the morning with her scar burning. “You're safe. Bellatrix is dead and you're not. We won.”

“We didn't.” Theo said heavy.

“Honestly, I'm not sure we did either. No one bloody listened to me and the idiocy keeps seeping upwards.” She sat back on her heels, not sure if she should be bitching to two former Death Eaters. They at least couldn't try to transfer her to Wales to shut her up. “We're down a lot of lunatics but we're well up on red tape.” Hermione grimaced, the familiar feeling of ingrown wrath prickling under her skin. “I thought it would be different.”


	2. Filthy Lucre

Hermione explained in bite-sized chunks how the world had changed while they were away. Shacklebolt had stepped into the breach as Minister, working himself to exhaustion to stabilise the country in the aftermath of the war. His aide had found him slumped over his desk on a Thursday morning. Accusations had flown of course, but three different Healers were prepared to swear he had died entirely naturally of a heart attack brought on by chronic overwork. The Auror had given his all and the bill had come due.

“There was a bun-fight of stupendous proportions. Kingsley had got everything running again so it was back to politics. For a while it looked like Shafiq would get his foot in but he'd spent the war in Spain. No one liked that.” After the soup, she had made hot chocolate and now they sat rugged up on the tiny patio overlooking a yard overrun with bindweed and burdock and whatever was the whitish flowering vine creeping in from the neighbours.

“Which Shafiq?” Theo sipped the milky drink. It was thick and sweet and wonderful. He held the mug in both hands, letting himself unwind just a little. The sky was smudgy with incontinent clouds but Granger had cast an Impervius Charm so they could enjoy the fresh air unsodden.

“Jerome. His father was Senior Undersecretary before Umbridge.” Hermione supplied, garnering a nod from the dark haired wizard. “So we have Kenelm Marchbanks, nephew of Griselda.” Madam Professor Marchbanks had been a fixture of the Wizengamot for sixty years before she resigned in protest over Umbridge's appointment. “He's a plodder who holds grudges, notably against Shafiq. They've been squabbling for more than a year.”

“Not good.” He ventured, expecting to have his head bitten off for the presumption of offering his opinion. The witch made a noise and took a long swallow of her hot chocolate.

“They're busy digging up dirt on each other, which is how the state of the Treasury came to light.” She rubbed the worn knee of her jeans, frayed from a curse that refused to be mended. “The cupboard is bare. Fudge was writing blank cheques, Scrimgeour trebled the DMLE's budget but didn't balance the books and the Death Eaters raided the kitty with both hands.”

“My father.” Draco had been struggling to listen. Granger's voice penetrated, a persistent nettle. He needed to answer it though once he had opened his mouth speaking became a Herculean effort. Shacklebolt had banished the Dementors but their essence lingered sapping all care. He subsided into apathetic silence.

“Bankrolled a great many projects, yes.” Hermione caught the dangling conversational thread, not finding it difficult to guess Draco's point. Lucius had been a very generous patron. “That's what's alarmed so many people. When the Ministry accounts were properly audited, great big shortfalls kept appearing. Fudge particularly had borrowed heavily from Gringotts to service the debts Bagnold and Minchum had incurred. He might've managed to peg back the arrears except for the war.”

Theo and Draco had been raised to this. Even spent, they understood the implications of the Ministry going bankrupt. A third of the population of magical Britain was employed by or provided services to the Ministry. Their silence was them slowly digesting what they had been told and mentally answering their own questions.

Before the Statute of Secrecy, there had been a lucrative trade in fosterages. An under-age heir to a fortune could be sent to live with a pure-blood family to better situate the child in society. Nothing so vulgar as actual bidding would take place. Patronage here, generous donation there, a betrothal agreement, all subtle things to ensure influence. That the child was often a hostage for their family's compliance was also valuable.

“Fosterling.” Theo ruminated as rain spattered over the untamed greenery. Just the scent of it was intoxicating. A season full of promise. He had forgotten the smell of earth, the sound of the breeze through leaves and the comfort of quiet contentment. He had put those things out of his mind so he would not pine for them. Now to have everything come back was euphoric.

“That's the basis of the legislation. Marchbanks hammered it through at ten minutes to midnight just before the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes defaulted on their payroll.” She hadn't been there. Very few people had been present by the end of the session. Most of the rhetoric had been said in time for the Daily Prophet to go to print, meaning most of the windiest bags had gone home. “A special committee cobbled together any old law that justified a cash grab.”

“Are we beggars?” It seemed pathetically irrelevant but some slowly rousing instinct prodded Theo to ask. He didn't have his NEWTs. Even if Seventh Year hadn't been a durance vile, Hogwarts had been in no state to hold exams. If he had no money, he needed qualifications to get a job and to get qualifications he needed money to study, which he couldn't if he had to work. The coil of thought threatened to tangle into impossible knots.

“Technically.” Hermione said sourly then hurried to explain when she saw their despair. “There's still money in your names. You aren't destitute.” She finished her hot chocolate, setting the mug down by her chair lest outrage tempt her to throw it. “Before we get down to brass tacks, I want to say I hate this. I protested. Literally. I resigned from the DRCMC. I was cautioned for trespass. I went to the goblins.” The witch made a face. “None of it helped.”

The wizards shared a look, obscurely reassured that the acknowledged fact of bossy, crusading Granger was set in stone. Whatever else had changed, the Gryffindor was still made of fire. Draco, exhausted by the prospect of doom, felt himself relax a little. He didn't have to fight any more. Granger would wage war for him. She'd protect him. That hurt like the touch of flames on frostbitten skin but he could endure it.

“The Ministry has full legal right to the vaults in the name of any prisoner convicted of a capital crime. All prisoners incarcerated for life are considered de facto to have been convicted of a capital crime regardless of the charges levelled.” Hermione spoke by rote. “Gringotts could not contest that. They could block the Ministry from seizing the ancestral vaults as those are accessible by blood not name. Hence the IMP, which is part fosterage and part restitution. So long as you are in my care, I have control of your vaults.”

Neither Draco nor Theo wanted to hear any more. Hermione couldn't blame them. She took their empty mugs inside after casting another warming charm. Taking the opportunity of their fugue, she moved her personal belongings out of the master bedroom into the spare. She didn't mind and it gave her a chance to survey her wardrobe.

They would need to go clothes shopping, never one of her favourite activities, but her house guests weren't ready for that yet. She could transfigure some of her work attire as she'd hardly worn most of it. New clothes took spells better and her suits needed little alteration. That the two wizards weighed about the same as she did ignited another spark of ire.

Hermione wanted to take them to St Mungo's so they could have a proper check-up but bringing a Malfoy and a Nott into a public area in magical Britain was asking for trouble. Probably not a riot as tempers had cooled as people turned to rebuilding their lives. Anger had banked into slow burning grudges, though. Lucius Malfoy and Tristan Nott had been very busy making enemies.

The best course might be to go to France. Hermione headed downstairs to write to Andromeda then find the scroll detailing travel restrictions and visa requirements. She had her passport so a little side trip to Switzerland would be easy. Gringotts had a branch in Chur so with luck getting some surreptitious banking done would be simple.

Her tawny owl, Sophia, was a scruffy rescue bird still regrowing plumage and was reluctant to leave her nesting box under the eaves. Hermione coaxed her out with some chicken then spent ten minutes trying to tie the letter to her foot. Sophia was willing to deliver mail but she wasn't going to volunteer. After making her witch scramble about until more chicken was forthcoming, the owl acquiesced.

Missive dispatched, Hermione went back to the paperwork. All parolees had a magical Trace on them similar to the one on under-aged wizards and witches, with the addition of a proximity spell that would send an alert to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement if they went more than one hundred yards from their custodian. Aurors would be sent.

There was no mention of a reciprocal arrangement with the French Ministry or indeed any of the other European magical governments. Hermione found that quite suspicious. Even a single sentence waffling about 'international cooperation' would've been enough. She couldn't find anything of that ilk, but neither was travel overseas forbidden. No comment on the Muggle authorities either. Did the Ministry expect the parolees to spend their holidays meekly compliant?

She lifted her gaze to look out the French doors onto the patio where she could see two blanketed forms. Theo and Draco had nodded off. The charms would last a good few hours so Hermione decided to let them nap. She'd give them a nudge if they were still asleep at nightfall and leave her questions for tomorrow.

Saturday happened much later than Hermione had planned. The three of them had eaten soup and tinned peaches for dinner then she had introduced her guests to the television in the small room behind the kitchen. The Muggle-born explained to the pure-bloods about movies and how to work the DVD player. She was frank with them, inviting them to help themselves to her library but suggesting they might want to ease themselves into intellectual pursuits.

In that vein, Hermione started off with a documentary about insects that she thought was usefully non-controversial. That got them curious about Antz, which she'd bought as a filler DVD in a 'buy four' deal. Draco and Theo were fascinated by the Muggle technology and the three of them stayed up late watching movies, sitting on bean bags with more rounds of hot chocolate.

So it was a rumpled and flannel clad Hermione who opened her front door to Harry, Neville, and Dean. They were in the unofficial Auror uniform of trenchcoat and steel-toe boots, a compromise for subfusc utility. She let them in as the call seemed to be business, offering tea or juice. The scattered parchments on the table were noticed as was the crockery from last night.

“I sent an owl this morning.” Harry explained. “You didn't reply.”

“I've only just got up.” Hermione groused, putting on the kettle and investigating her fridge. “As you can see, I am not dead. Neither are my house guests, who are blamelessly asleep upstairs.” She gave her fellow Gryffindors a starchy look. “The Ministry thought me capable of bending the two of them to my will. Why the check-up?”

“We were worried.” Dean answered when Harry looked uncomfortable at her jibe. “About you. Malfoy's a rat bastard and Nott is creepy. None of us like the idea of you being alone with them, even without their magic.”

“Are you suggesting the Ministry's bribe is perhaps a poisoned chalice?” She was snide and immediately regretted it. The current political situation was not her friends' fault. “Sorry.” Hermione arrayed breakfast fixings on the counter. “They're both shattered. I'm going to protest, again, about Azkaban conditions. Muggle jails look like resorts by comparison.”

“Hermione.” Harry interrupted her rant before it turned into a diatribe. “We'll have a quick look at Malfoy and Nott then go.”

“So it is an official keeping tabs on me visit.” Hermione sliced toast with the enchanted hot knife, being mindful not to use it to punctuate her statement. Her friends probably wouldn't arrest her but no one who'd lived through the war could relax with a blade pointed at them. “Did you know your bloody Department included advice on how to discipline parolees?” She hadn't told Draco and Theo about that little titbit, though they would doubtless find it when they read the documentation themselves. “The DMLE vacillates between treating them like toddlers or maniacs.”

“They're both Death Eaters.” Neville tried to find a tone midway between caution and reminder, which failed to mollify Hermione judging from her expression. He'd need two goes to pick Nott out of a crowd and Malfoy had been a toerag before he took the Mark, but they had done enough to be initiated. “You need to be careful. Just showing them around Muggle England isn't going to be enough to redeem them.”

“I know.” She had no intention of dragging them around pointing at things to show them the error of their ways. “I have a plan.” This surprised no one. “I'm going to help them catch up on what they've missed then we'll go to France. We'll blend in better there. News of their release must have been leaked to the Prophet by now.”

“Yeah, it has.” The confirmation came from Dean, who was quietly thankful his status as Auror kept him off the custodian list. While he was technically a half-blood, he had been raised by Muggles and could have qualified for the Integration and Mentoring Program if he hadn't worked for the DMLE. “Inquiries are being made but you know the Ministry's a sieve.”

“Andromeda is in France.” Harry stated though it sounded a lot like a question.

“I'm not going to keep him from his mum.” They had all paid. No one in the house had two parents living who remembered them. Hermione didn't say it but she was certainly thinking it, caustically too. “Look, I don't want to argue with you.” There was perhaps a little too much emphasis on 'you'. She was spoiling for a debate with the Ministry. “I am going to comport myself as a responsible member of the valued Muggle-born community aware of my privileges and obligations.”

“Is that a quote?” Theo asked from the stars. When he had heard men's voices, he had eavesdropped from the bedroom door. As the conversation grew more pertinent, he had edged forward not wanting to miss any of what was being said. Granger's officious words were so unlike her he was sure she was parroting.

“From the Director of the Ministry of Magic Public Information Services. Ogilvy Blenkinsop has an everlasting supply of pompous.” Hermione had sat through many a speech since the end of the war. The Esteemed Director's efforts were in her top five for candidates for Vogon poetry. “He's keen for me to be seen to be behaving myself.”

“Where's Malfoy?” Harry asked before Hermione's sarcasm caused her to say something inconveniently accurate to one of the resident security risks. Blenkinsop was a prat who never failed to remind him of Lockhart.

“Asleep.” Theo replied, not expecting that to make any difference.

It didn't. Auror Potter went upstairs to confirm the second parolee was in the Land of Nod not Stupefied or hog-tied in the cellar. Hermione made tea. She drank it while the wizards held their cups one handed and pretended not to be watching Nott. For his part, Theo sipped the Darjeeling as though he hadn't a care in the world. After the Lestranges, he didn't have it in him to be frightened of anyone.

“He's up there.” Harry reported, taking a cup of tea awkwardly. Hermione was plotting something, he could sense it. He didn't think she'd do something as stupid as helping Nott or Malfoy escape. She was an idealist but she still had some respect for the law if not the lawmakers. “You will at least try to give the revolution a rest, right?”

“I solemnly swear I will not foment rebellion on your shift.” Hermione smiled. Dean rolled his eyes, Neville shot her a concerned look and Harry frowned. “Honestly, I'm not going to run amok. I am going to do my civic duty and learn a valuable lesson in moderation from this farce.” She regarded her friends calmly. “I have a lot more reading to do before I can hit Blenkinsop over the head with his own verbiage.”

That seemed to soothe the Gryffindors, which surprised Theo. He wondered if he was the only one listening to what Granger was not saying. They wanted her to tow the party line enough to keep out of trouble, which she said she would do more or less. They didn't ask for her oath or inquire exactly what reading she would be doing. He doubted she was going to brush up on British legal precedents.

After stilted conversation and a third of a cup of tea, the Aurors left. There was a round of hugs and smiles and when Granger shut the door on her friends, Theo saw her shake her head. He stayed where he was, equidistant between kitchen and front windows, a position that gave him the most scope to dodge. None of the Gryffindors had hit him. They hadn't even raised a hand or touched their wands. But they were guards. They had not come to the house for his protection.

“You're shaking.” Hermione noticed the shift in Theo's stance. He'd been determinedly nonchalant at Harry, Neville, and Dean. It was difficult to swagger in a tracksuit though he'd managed some hauteur. It was gone now; his supply of nerve clearly exhausted.

“Yes.” Theo kept his cup in both hands as tea sloshed over the rim. He didn't resist when she took it from him or when she stood next to him with arms apart. He turned into her offered embrace, flinching as her hands touched his back. She didn't squeeze or rub, just let him huddle against her for warmth and reassurance.

“It's all a bit shit, isn't it?” The witch observed quietly. “I find swearing helps.”


	3. Exchanging Currency

Sunday was a write off as far as being productive went. Andromeda replied to her letter and included an envelope for Draco from Narcissa. He left his breakfast half-eaten to rush upstairs to read in private. Theo ate half a bowl of porridge then spent the morning prostrate watching TV as his stomach punished him. Hermione reread what Andromeda had written while sitting in her armchair, then continued to sit while she thought.

Draco rejoined them before lunch. His eyes were red but his face was set in an expressionless mask. He thrust his mother's letter at Granger. When she hesitated to take it, anger loosened his tongue.

“Read it.” The Ministry allowed parolees correspondence on the condition they have the permission of their custodian, which included inspection and possible censorship of their letters. Narcissa had begged him not to put a foot wrong.

“Do you want me to?” Hermione asked, not touching the delicately scented notepaper.

“The rules.” Draco got the words out around his teeth, feeling voiceless as though Azkaban had stolen every power or suffrage from him. His own mind wanted him to be quiet, to go unnoticed, to avoid confrontation so there would be no more pain. Granger's fingers touched his and he flinched as though stung.

“Why don't you read it to me?” She suggested. “What you share with me should be your own choice.”

“I...” He swallowed, hating himself for his fear. He'd paced his cell frantic for something to do, knowing he should do something, anxious to keep busy, not to think but there was nothing to do, no way to escape his own head.

“How about a trade then?” Hermione said softly. “I'll tell you something personal so when you share your mother's letter you won't lose anything.” She looked his chest, not ignoring him but not pushing the confrontation by staring him in the eye. George had shied away from eye-contact for years. He'd tried to laugh about how vulnerable he felt standing alone under someone else's direct gaze. She'd had a lot of chats to his jumpers.

“You first.” Draco dredged up some arrogance. It was a pallid ghost of his previous self-confidence. The effort made Hermione smile though.

“Ron kisses like an over-enthusiastic puppy.” The confession got a quiet chuckle from Theo and a fleeting smile from the wary blond.

“Mother is well.” He began then stopped abruptly, hands clenching on the letter. “I can't.”

“Then don't.” She offered Andromeda's letter to him. “I plan for the three of us to go to Mrs Tonks's house and lounge on a beach. Her place is on the residence list for custodians so once I pay the fees, we can stay there.” Hermione would've preferred to rent a cottage but Perpignan didn't have a wizarding settlement nearby so there would be no buildings already warded. Getting a house prepped to custodial standard would involve both the British and French Ministries and more time than she was prepared to expend.

The two wizards raised no objections. Hermione sent a request for travel forms to the Ministry, all permutations of which arrived in a great ream obviously dispatched automatically on receipt of the charm. Theo and Draco watched Brother Cadfael solve mysteries in the 12th century while Hermione wrangled with 21st century red-tape.

Dinner was the last of the vegetable soup and some experimental dry toast. Neither wizard felt like moving much with unfamiliarly full stomachs so they sat outdoors rugged up again, staring at green things as though they had forgotten the colour. Crookshanks joined them after his witch cast a warming charm. The half-kneazle parked himself on Theo's lap, his low purr rumbling in the stillness.

Draco eyed the cat then tentatively reached across to pet the orange monster. His fur was ridiculously soft, slightly fluffed in the humidity like his mistress's hair. He pulled his hand back when the cat opened one eye but when no clawing wrath was forthcoming, he resuming petting. The slow resonant purring was very soothing.

Once she realised it was past nine o'clock, Hermione went to check on her guests. She found all three males dozing. As she lifted Crookshanks off Theo, the cat protested by going boneless, forcing his witch to lug him all the way to his cushion. He stared reproachfully until she charmed his bed warm then he curled up in a huff of marmalade indignation.

Hermione hesitated before rousing the Slytherins. She didn't want to alarm them. They looked so peaceful. Terribly young and wrung out. Delicately, she touched Theo's hand, patting it when he didn't rouse. He blinked, jerking in the chair before deliberately relaxing. The patio light was on. He could see clearly where he was and who she was. He let his breath out.

“It's late.” Hermione told him quietly. “You should go to bed.”

Theo nodded foggily, getting up and dragging his blanket with him as he stumbled inside. Hermione repeated her hand touch with Draco but he didn't stir. She coughed loudly then shook his shoulder. It was her own fault, she conceded to herself later. Theo's war had been one of keeping his mouth shut and doing what he was told while trying to avoid notice. Voldemort had Marked him as a matter of protocol. Draco had been a show-piece.

The Malfoy heir woke suddenly, felt a grip on his arm and reacted almost before his eyes were open. One hand lashed out to push his attacker away as his other hand went to his wand. Which wasn't there. He thrashed, trapped by something, staggering to his feet ready either for a curse or a blow. Neither came.

Hermione dabbed her mouth. Draco had caught her on the cheek and she'd bit her lip. He'd probably been going for a man's throat or collarbone if he'd been thinking tactically at all. Likely not, she guessed from his shocked face.

“It's alright.” That seemed the conventional thing to say. Draco shied back, his eyes darting as his chest heaved. Hermione stood still, waiting for his adrenalin rush to abate. It took a while, quite a while before he lowered his arms and unclenched his hands. She ventured a smile. “We'll call this even for Third Year.”

“I'm sorry.” Draco rasped. Granger stepped over to him, picking up the fallen blanket. She kept her hands where he could see them, the bedding in a bundle against her. Showing him she was no threat. Showing him, the Death Eater, he didn't need to be frightened.

“It's fine. You woke suddenly, that's all.” Hermione reassured, trying to add some normality to the situation. If he could rationalise his response as ordinary surprise at waking unexpectedly then maybe next time he wouldn't be so alarmed.

“You.” He inhaled shakily. There was a smear of blood on the corner of her mouth. Not quite aware of what he was doing, Draco reached out and touched a finger to her lip, wiping the red away. He looked at the colour on his skin then licked his fingertip. Iron and salt. No different than his. But he knew that, didn't he? Alone in his cell all the lies had withered.

“That's unsanitary.” The scold was automatic. Hermione heard her mother so many times say the exact thing whenever she had done something mucky. A smirk flickered across his face.

“Know-it-all.” Draco spoke without thinking then the recollection of the schoolyard insult spat so often chilled him, jerking him out of the idyll. She'd stomp off and leave him. She would. She'd spin around, her mad hair bouncing, stalking away like a lioness faced with prey too puny to eat.

She didn't.

She smiled at him, her chocolate eyes crinkling showing him the expression was genuine. Granger eased forward, handing him the wadded up blanket. So close he could smell her; violets and lemon from her tea and female and clean warm soft home scents that told him more than the soup or the garden that he was out of prison.

“Not yet.” Hermione said, her mouth curving with mischief. “But just you wait.”

Draco went to bed feeling warm, sleeping neither lightly nor with the pole-axed heaviness of exhaustion. An everyday sort of slumber that was a balm in itself. He rolled over to see Theo next to him also awake. They'd pushed their beds together, sharing blankets, wanting closeness but better able to last the night huddling together with atavistic fear.

“Do you think we've gone mad?” He asked the dark haired wizard, toying idly with the manacle on his left wrist. The guard who had held him down when his magic was bound had dug his fingers into the Dark Mark, twisting the skin as though he wanted to rip it off. There had been a Healer there, who had vanished all the bruises. Didn't want any awkward questions.

“Perhaps.” Theo had been thinking about it, lying on a soft mattress in a pleasant room with the sun peaking in around heavy curtains. “Would you hallucinate Granger if you had lost your mind?” He idly thought that he might. She'd been in all his classes. Insanity might well twist her image in his head into an Erinys. But the provision of hot chocolate and fleecy garments did not seem apt punishment for an oath-breaker.

“I don't know.” Draco had waited in his cell to lose his grasp on reason. Would you know? He wasn't sure if he wanted this to be a happy delusion, the last defense of a fractured mind, or real. If it were real then it could be taken away.

“I tried to keep myself occupied.” He had recited books and argued logic and worked through complicated Arithmantic equations, taking refuge in his intellect as the world had succumbed to lunacy. “I could have constructed this reality. More plausible than being released to Nott Manor.” Theo wondered whether the Ministry had even paused before ransacking his family home. Doubtful. “I like this dream.”

Draco thought about the way Granger moved, the fire in her eyes. She had said they would go to France. He could bear to drowse in the sun drinking red wine and eating croissants. Eating everything. His stomach growled, as insistent as it had been in the early days of his sentence grumbling like an disgruntled house elf.

As though summoned by his hunger, there was a knock on the door. A considerable pause as Theo and Draco remembered they could refuse someone entry lengthened into something awkward. Granger knocked again announcing she'd brought them breakfast. Admittance was granted quickly.

“Downstairs is a bit of a mess. There's laundry everywhere.” Hermione lied casually, neither wizard heeding her remark as they hurried to sit up in bed. She levitated a tray to each of them. “I sent the travel request through last night and they've been approved. You stay up here and eat while I pack. We'll go directly. Before anyone has a chance to lodge an objection.”

Theo noted her flyaway hair and the smudges under her eyes. He'd fallen asleep as soon as he'd reached his bed and couldn't guess when she'd gone to sleep. Late, that much was evident. She gave them a nod then strode out of the room purposefully. Her demeanour was not unusual so he didn't wonder at it over-long. Perhaps the modest witch simply didn't want them ogling her dirty undergarments.

The prospect of an injunction against them leaving the country was apparently real enough to have Granger bustle them out of the house as soon as they'd bathed and dressed. They Disapparated directly from the bedroom with Draco holding an owl cage and Theo a cat carrier, the occupants of which were most seriously displeased.

Their arrival was rougher than Hermione liked but she wasn't surprised she staggered on landing and the crack of their Apparition boomed. Six hundred miles was at the upper limit of her range. A Side-Along at that distance taxed her control heavily. However she was very determined not to go to the Ministry for a Portkey.

The thunderclap brought Andromeda and Narcissa into the garden. Draco staggered to his mother, embracing her with Sophia's cage still in his hand. Theo lowered Crookshanks's carrier to the ground then finding his knees bent sat down on the brick path trying not to shame himself by regurgitating his muesli.

Mrs Tonks's cottage was a two-storey box in buff brick with a terracotta roof. The back wall had five windows with shutters painted milky blue open to the morning sun. The building was old enough to have settled into itself, weathering into the hillside until it looked like a giant's toy block carelessly left. Most of the ground floor was a low ceilinged kitchen with a long refectory table, to which Andromeda herded them.

“Have some coffee, Hermione.” The older witch gestured at a silver pot, which her guest poured with a lavish hand. Caffeine was a short term solution. It would get her to Switzerland, though. Hermione leaned against the sink and watched Crookshanks sniff the earthenware tiles around the pot-bellied stove. They had visited the cottage several times so the half-kneazle had preferred napping spots. Wedged behind the stove was a particular favourite.

“Thank you.” Theo said when Draco's disowned aunt put a plate of pastries in front of him.

“I have been assured that you aren't as bad as your father.” Andromeda studied the boy for a long moment. “That I can believe.” When the young Nott winced, she shook her head. “Don't. What's done is done. What I lost cannot be replaced.” She took the coffee pot from Hermione and poured for the group. “I believe I speak for everyone here when I say I just want it over with.”

There was no conversation around the table. Narcissa sobbed quietly over her son while Draco hid his face against her shoulder and shook. Theo dismembered a croissant. Andromeda recollected a request and left the kitchen, returning with a large manilla envelope. She handed it to Hermione, who traded it for a beaded bag, finished her coffee and went out into the garden. At the sound of her Disapparition, Draco jerked his head up.

“She'll be back.” Narcissa reassured. “Miss Granger has some errands to run, that's all.” The sight of her only child's pallor made an angry knot in her belly. He was being treated like a chattel, a commodity. Her precious boy, trussed like a market goose. “She's going to Gringotts to transfer your vaults. She's very clever.” The unspoken 'for a Mudblood' caused Andromeda to interrupt.

“Hermione is doing this at risk to her reputation and what remains of her career out of principle.” The sharp edge of her tongue was pure Black. “If I hear one word, one murmur about her blood or upbringing, I'll turn you all out into the street.” The widow smiled composedly, helping herself to a petit madeleine like a society hostess. 

“What is it that she is doing?” Theo asked when Draco looked ready to crawl into himself. Their French Arcadia had thorns.

“It's complicated.” Andromeda echoed Hermione, who had frowned when she said it as though reminded of something unpleasant. “She couldn't give me the specifics as it's between her and the goblins. But she's found a way to get around the Ministry hold on your vaults. It's much more than her simply transferring the money. Much more than you. Hermione thinks she's found a way to save wizarding Britain from bankruptcy.”


	4. Usury

Without Hermione, Draco and Theo were confined to the cottage and grounds. Narcissa paced out the boundary with them, familiar with the cordon of her refuge. She had been released from Azkaban partly on medical grounds but her parole conditions were very similar to the wizards'. Jettisoning the high maintenance prisoners had been the Ministry's first cost-cutting measure.

“You will like it here, my dragon.” She said fondly, not releasing her grip on her son's hand lest he vanish. Narcissa had nightmares of shadows dragging him into the dark. She couldn't quite believe he was here. Her sister had assured her the Mu...ggle-born would bring Draco to her but the hope had seemed so feeble it had been painful to contemplate. “You too, Theo. We can go boating on the river and there's a private little bay. Swimming helps.”

Narcissa didn't expound on the marvellous cleansing and uplifting feeling she experienced floating unfettered in the sea. The cove was sheltered; a Bubble-Head charm and a Muggle wetsuit meant she could drift unconcerned. If the weather was bad or the water cold, it didn't matter. She was safe in the sheltered cove. Once upon a time, Malfoy Manor had given her the same sense of security. No longer.

On Saturday, the Black sisters had gone into Perpignan to buy necessities. They had avoided the centre commerciaux, the shopping malls, as Narcissa couldn't face the crowds or the noise. The smaller stores in the older parts of the medieval city with street signs in Catalan were more enticing. Muggles did not gawk at two middle aged women who spoke French like Parisians courtesy of their governess. Narcissa drank the anonymity like wine.

“I have proper clothes for the two of you. Everything is pret-a-porter, alas. Muggles do have tailors but with you so thin...” Narcissa scolded herself for babbling. To still her tongue, she took the boys into the cottage to their rooms and simply showed them their wardrobes rather than nattering like a magpie. Miss Granger had done her best, she supposed, but no child of hers would be seen in public in what looked like hand-me-down pyjamas.

“You needn't fuss, ma'am.” Theo found himself slipping into the old form of address clumsily. He appreciated Madam Malfoy's kindness, truly. However, her brittleness was exhausting and when she left him so he could change, he collapsed onto the bed. It squeaked. He shifted cautiously, rolling into a dip formed by many previous occupants. Granger's bed had been far more welcoming.

He lay there turning that sentiment over in his mind. Theo loathed surprises. Having a tendril of affection curl around him at thought of snuggling into the fuzzy blankets and downy comforters caught him off guard. The explicit linkage between Granger and bed and welcome was disconcerting. Unwilling to shove the train of thought off its rails, he allowed it to chug along to the next station. Granger in bed.

She'd given them her bedroom and slept in the small spare. He'd peeked into her boudoir, curious at her change of plans. The two other rooms on the top floor of her home had been slightly larger than his cell; more than half, less than twice. Theo hadn't stepped inside as it was rude enough he had opened the door but he had been grateful to have the master's suite. Granger was kind.

Granger was warm. That observation brought him back to beds in more general terms. Granger looked cuddly in her soft flannels with her hair fluffing in defiant curls. Theo imagined running his hands through those tresses. Her hair would probably trap him like Medusa's serpents. A neglected part of him seemed intent on turning itself to stone. He sat up and hurriedly shut the bedroom door. The act of which quelled his paltry ardour.

At least Azkaban hadn't left him an eunuch. Theo undressed to put on some of the new clothes as an excuse to examine himself in the standing mirror. He could see every one of his ribs. His legs looked like sticks jutting up from over-large feet. He'd never been robust but now whatever physical allure he'd possessed was gone. A waif begging for alms.

As the last heir of Nott, he had obligations. Which seemed all so irrelevant. A compliant witch he didn't detest from a pure family, as many sons as he could manage to trick Fate into giving him and a life less dissolute than his resources so he could pass on a respectable holding. Not much, when considered while staring at oneself, yet too far to reach. Theo dressed and went to find Draco.

The blond was sitting naked on the floor of what had probably been the nursery judging from the bunnies on the wall. Clothes were scattered around him, some turned inside out, some simply thrown in a fit of temper. Theo sat down beside his friend and put his arms around him. Draco choked back angry tears, frustrated at himself.

“You look good in green.” The platitude set the scene as banal. If one wished to throw one's garments about the room then as a young man of quality, one could. Theo had a fairly shrewd idea of what had brought on this fit; he had after all stared at himself in the mirror for minutes. “Granger recognised us. Hadn't seen us in years. Both scrawny, both in prison drab with shorn heads.” He rubbed a hand over the stubble on his scalp. “We haven't changed all that much.”

“I want to.” Draco's chest heaved. “I see me and I see worthless.” He swallowed on a tight throat. Theo's hand made slow circles over his back. He was suddenly exhausted. “I don't blame her for leaving.”

“She'll be back. She brought her cat.” Theo felt the shudders convulse his friend and held him closer fearing something had broken in Draco. It took him a moment to realise he was laughing. Not loudly but repeatedly. “If you're having hysterics, I will slap you. I never got to slap Pansy when she performed a tantrum. I don't want to miss my chance now.”

“Not having vapours.” He wheezed around the paroxysm of amusement. Granger had left her cat ipso facto she would return. All he and Theo needed to do to continue basking in her heat was to stick close to Crookshanks, who liked warm places and seconds at every meal. They could do that. Everything would be fine. “Here, kitty kitty.”

“If you are quite finished, I suggest you put on some trousers.” Such dignity as he had, he aired. Theo was pleased to see Draco waking up. Manic, yes, but not shambling like an inferius. “Your mother might think my intentions were improper.”

“Wouldn't mind.” Draco muttered, straightening to ease a cramp across his ribs. He hadn't laughed in forever. He was still tired. Seeing his mother an echo of herself, a crumpled sketch of the witch she had been and knowing he'd helped to reduce her to that state was a scourge. She needed him to be strong for her but he was weak, hollow bones close to snapping.

“Neither of us could get it up.” They had been friends since they could toddle. There had only ever been one secret between them. Theo rummaged through the heap of clothes, finding a pair of boxers. He handed them over so Draco would get dressed before he caught cold.

“True.” The scion of the House of Malfoy agreed, almost wryly. He didn't have much to offer anyone right now. But because his mother would fret if she saw him like this, Draco got up to clad himself in canvas trousers and a turtleneck. Both were navy blue, the coordination more by luck than choice. He ran his hands down the Muggle shirt. Softer than he expected. Theo's shirt, long sleeved like his own, was also smooth.

“No robes.” Theo observed, feeling underdressed. Draco nodded but he wasn't thinking about the difference in attire. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against the brunet's. With his palms on Theo's chest, he felt his intake of breath then his gradual response; neither timid nor presumptuous. The kiss continued by mutual consent, deepening into a proper snog that left them both breathless and dizzy.

Actually quite dizzy as they both found when they broke for air. The wizards sat on Draco's bed as the room spun, sharing an embarrassed smile. The kiss was no thing of shame but their depleted stamina did bruise pride somewhat. Theo put his hand on his friend's and let Draco tug him down prone beside him. The bed was too narrow for much beyond lying, which was fine as they both nodded off.

Hours later, the crack of an Apparition woke them in time to hear Granger use some very unladylike language as she pulled herself out of the rosemary hedge. Theo sat up slowly, anticipating disorientation then rose to go downstairs. The manacle on his wrist seemed lighter now the witch had returned. He noted Draco fiddling with his own shackle and nodded. The binding wasn't as stable as it should have been if it was reacting to their custodian's proximity.

Hermione sat at the kitchen table and downed another blood replenishing potion. Andromeda had an obsessively well stocked medicine chest as well as a full pantry so she provided the witch with a plate of cold meats and cheese. When she set the meal down, she took a firm grip on the younger woman's right arm and turned her palm over to inspect the cross hatching of newly healed wounds.

“So it worked, then?” Andromeda wanted to say something else but screaming obscenities didn't seem appropriate. Whoever was in charge, it never changed. The Ministry always wanted blood. She'd seen it in the wars, in the interbellum with its corruption, and now in the reformation. “How many did they make you do?”

“Six.” Hermione answered, eating brie left handed. “One to demonstrate the ritual, one more to be sure, then one each on four differing vaults to see how the rites meshed with the differing protections.” She had been confident in the theory. Seeing the blood magic done in practice had settled the rest of doubts. “The Swiss wanted to try more but Ulrik insisted we'd done enough.”

“Who is Ulrik?” Theo inquired at the blush on the witch's wan face. Images of a robust wizard skiing through mountain passes, tanned face flushed with good heath coalesced in his mind. He didn't honestly think Granger had snuck off pour l'amour but the pink of her cheeks suggested something more than business.

“He's a ward-scribe at Gringotts.” She explained. “He came over from the London branch to smooth things with the Chur goblins.” Quite a bit of the old oil had been required to get a human into the chthonic ancient vaults the goblins had maintained since the Bronze age. Hermione had been relieved to emerge like Orpheus, and had said as much to Ulrik, which had led into an erudite but disquieting conversation on psychopomps.

“A goblin?” He asked to be entirely clear on the matter. Enfeebled pariah though he was, he refused to feel bettered by a hob. Hermione, with a mouthful of prosciutto, nodded. Once she had chewed and swallowed, she replied verbally.

“I went to Gringotts before I resigned. My department handled all the diplomatic relations with the goblins, not something they were happy about, so I had an excuse.” She hesitated then decided if she were in Theo's position, she would want to know what her custodian was doing in her name. “I called in the blood debt owed to me.”

“You broke into the bank.” Draco had come downstairs in Theo's wake and had spent the interim contemplating whether cheese would agree with him. He had just decided brie was a flaunting minx that would make him pay for enjoying her favours when 'blood debt' grabbed his ear. “You owe them.”

“That's what they said.” The witch agreed with weary cheerfulness. “Got quite shirty about it too. Until I made a case for it being Tom Riddle's fault, which nicely absolved them and me of culpability. There've been some nasty allegations about goblins covertly aiding Death Eaters escaping from Britain. Having an excuse to wash their hands of the horcruxes suited them.” Hermione could understand the goblins' perspective. “Which meant we could consider Griphook's agreement with Ron, Harry and I separate from the bloody cup.”

“You need a long spoon to sup with a goblin.” Theo cautioned, not liking where this was going.

“That's the devil, and actually I've found Ulrik and his cadre quite affable. This helps.” Hermione raised her left arm but didn't bare the scar. She watched Draco carefully as she'd known she'd have to mention his aunt carving her up in his presence eventually. He went so still he could have been petrified. Her voice was gentle. “I am proud of it. Yes, it hurt. More than anything I've ever felt before or since. But she didn't break me. Bellatrix taught me my own strength.”

“I did nothing.” Draco cowered from her and would've fled except his legs seemed cemented to the floor. Hermione walked over to him, putting a hand to his cheek with aching gentleness.

“That's all you could've done.” She said quietly. “You kept silent when you could've identified us. You knew it was Harry. You'd recognise him in the dark Stupefied.” Hermione tilted his chin up so their eyes met. She wanted him to hear this in his soul. “Believe me, Draco, you helped us.”

“Could've done more.” He murmured, transfixed by her gaze. How could he never have noticed her power? Granger had devoured books, been mocked incessantly for it, but the knowledge had filled her like an elixir.

“Bellatrix would've gutted you and without you alive your mother would never have lied to Riddle about Harry.” Hermione had thought a lot about 'might have been' and 'if only'. One of the many lessons war had taught her was there were no absolutes. Perfection in what had damn near been a civil war was impossible; striving for it or berating herself over failing to achieve the unobtainable would maim her. So she had told herself to be happy with a 'E'. She'd survived intact. That was definitely better than a Pass.

“So sure of yourself.” Bitterness welled up, spewing out with his words.

“I've had time to pick myself up and put myself back together. Live, relax, move on. I wasn't shut up in a cell to atone for my father's sins.” She glanced aside to Theo, implacably silent, and spoke to them both. “You shouldn't have gone to prison. House arrest, community service, some mortifying show of repentance, all of the above. Not to Azkaban. I'd raze the damn place if I could.”

“I would hold your cloak.” Theo asserted. Her outrage validated his own sense of grievance. He had never asked to be Marked. His filial loyalty had damned him to the same fate as his father. Many of the young heirs had been press-ganged to ensure the obedience of their parents, some only days before the final battle.

“I expect there'll be quite a queue.” Hermione smiled. She patted Draco's cheek then stepped away from him. “I picked up some nutrient potions and liquid vitamins. Get them down you.” Not willing to leave the matter of Gringotts by the wayside, she continued. “I'll explain everything while we sit in the garden. We could all do with some sun.”

It was twenty degrees Celsius with a cloudless sky so with the drystone walls blocking the wind, the cottage's tiny lawn was warm enough for basking. Andromeda, Narcissa, Teddy and Crookshanks joined them with lemon tea, a pantry picnic and enough candied cherries to make the little boy happily sticky. Hermione made up for her missed lunch as she explained.

Griphook had made a deal to get them into Gringotts in exchange for the sword; a deal he had revised under duress as they were being crushed by the cursed contents of the Lestrange vault. He had assumed the trio would betray him. A natural bias based on the shared history of goblin and wizard, but utterly wrong in her case.

“They believed you?” Narcissa asked politely, mindful of her sister's threat of eviction.

“Not at first.” Hermione conceded. “I insisted. One of the haznik'ha, sorry, that's one of the supervisors, came to see what the fuss was about. I think he thought I was being stroppy to prove a point so he tried to call my bluff.” Her Gobbledegook was good enough that she had understood his unflattering assessment of her character. “The goblins have their own veritaserum, much stronger than we use. It puts the drinker in a state of perfect clarity, no mental illusions, no self-deceptions. I drank it.”

“Gryffindors.” Theo and Draco said with simultaneous eye rolls.

“Well, of course.” She smirked at them. “Besides, the prospect of truly knowing myself was worth embarrassing myself when I temporarily lost my verbal filters.” The experience had been as mortifying as it had been enlightening. Hermione still winced at her compliments to Ulrik on his 'agile, seductive hands' and her curiosity what they might feel like on her skin. That had convinced the supervisor the Fragarach potion was working correctly at least. “I never thought of reneging on the deal. Griphook broke faith with me, which is a very serious matter among goblins.”

Which she knew from her own research for History of Magic. The debt was made worse because Griphook had died before he could settle it, leaving the stain on his family. In their culture, such a breach of contract could disgrace an entire lineage. No goblin would accept the word of someone who was kin to a liar. Falsehood was worse than murder, as murder in essentials was only theft.

“Obsessive little buggers, aren't they?” Andromeda remarked as she intercepted her grandson, who was intent on cuddling the orange kitty. Crookshanks ran off into the rosemary to avoid the four year old. She diverted the boy with another cherry, which he delightedly smeared over his face as his hair turned bright red.

“It was enough to convince them I could be trusted, which is a rare thing for a wanded.” Being an outsider to wizarding culture helped too. She didn't come with centuries of baggage. “When the Ministry passed the IMP, I read all the citations and codicils. Including tracking down the originals of the fosterage legislation in Norman French, which I am prepared to bet an enormous amount of money that no one read through properly.”

“How enormous an amount?” Theo would be the first to admit he wasn't at his best or cleverest but he could follow Granger's trail. Fosterage included a considerable variety of relationships and agreements. Anything from guest-right to formal adoptions.

“Not counting the residual balance in a vault so the interest covers your travel permissions, the return of goblin artefacts, and the destruction of Dark objects etcetera, about fifty million Galleons.” Hermione supplied placidly, spreading brie on a slice of crusty bread. She smiled at the silence from the pure-bloods. As a Muggle-born she could readily think in billions. The sum thus far liberated was a lot of money but not astronomical. To her, anyway.

“How?” Narcissa asked, putting down her glass with a rigidly steady hand. The clever Muggle had performed a trick her husband would've envied. The Malfoys before the war had been lavishly wealthy. Few families could rival them. Compared to what Miss Granger had liberated, the Malfoys looked like the Weasleys.

“The fosterage laws cover betrothals, including those for orphaned heiresses. Courtesy of centuries of inflation, I qualify.” Had she drafted the legislation, she would've checked the amounts cited in the original documents and included an indexed conversion into modern currency. That had not been done. “There are hundreds of unclaimed vaults from extinct families, all accruing interest. Today I opened six of them.”

Blood magic was tightly regulated by the Ministry as it was old and powerful. Marriage rites sealed by blood had fallen out of fashion due to the gruesome consequences of adultery, though were never made illegal. The Norman ritual for plighting troth had been forgotten. Hermione had made note of it years before simply because it was one of the binding spells a witch could use without parental oversight, a rarity at the time. As the daughter of well-to-do dentists, she could marry herself into the old families just enough to unseal the blood wards on the vaults.

The magic discharge from the millennium old Waerwic treasury had melted the foot thick iron door to slag then transmuted it to treacle. She and the goblins had redoubled their caution after that lesson. Repeating the rite was exhausting for the magic was generated, controlled, and released solely from her without the focus of a wand. While the curse-breakers and assayers had inspected the newly open vault, she had sat down against a stalagmite waiting for the giddiness to pass.

“You will devalue the currency.” Theo weighed fifty million Galleons against what he knew of the Nott holdings and ran some quick mental Arithmancy. Easily done, with a contributing factor that large in the confines of magical Britain. A menhir into a paddling pool.

“Old grudges aside, the goblins don't want to bring the wizarding world to its knees. They're invested too closely.” Hermione had thought about the effect flooding the country would have, and while toppling the Ministry in a gilt-edged coup would be satisfying it wouldn't improve the lot of the populace. “Which brings us to the happy fact that I am Muggle-born. I have a legal identity on both sides of the divide, and Muggles have stock exchanges.”

“We have a stock exchange.” Narcissa observed with a touch of frost. Miss Granger's selachian grin conveyed there were orders of magnitudes of difference between magical and Muggle in this instance.

“The FTSE 100, the Financial Times Stock Exchange, is a share index of one hundred companies from the London Stock Exchange. Their market cap is more than a trillion pounds.” She paused to gloat a little as the pure-bloods boggled. “Our plan is to transfer the money to the Muggle world and invest it. The goblins are in their element there. I'll use my share of the interest to slowly buy the Ministry's debts and force some financial accountability.”

“That's why you needed Ted's papers.” Andromeda realised. She had given Hermione her late husband's Muggle documents on the understanding she would put them to good use. The widow hadn't asked for any more details as the loss of her family was still raw.

“I set up Swiss bank accounts for myself, Ted and my parents under their English names. Those accounts will become the basis for various companies and trading entities.” Her father had dabbled on the stock market so fortunately she wasn't a complete novice with the legal hoops. “The goblins know what they're doing but they couldn't access it unless they used a proxy, which given the wizarding habit of trying to cheat them they were unwilling to risk until I showed up.” She quoted something Ulrik had said to her. “Trust is the most precious coin.”


	5. Piggy Bank

After the revelation of Granger's plans, there was an uptick in the cottage's mood. Narcissa too had benefited from the largesse as there was now a vault in her name with enough capital in it for the interest to cover the Ministry's fees. Removal of the prospect of an abject descent into penury or slowly dragging her sister and great-nephew into poverty with her, did a little to ease Narcissa's heart. Draco's presence did more. Perhaps, just perhaps, Fate had taken its lot from her. She couldn't quite believe that yet.

Life settled into an amble. None of the cottage's occupants were by nature mellow but Azkaban's toll was not quickly recouped. Hermione's activities were curtailed by the lacklustre speed of bureaucracy; Muggle, magical and goblin. Andromeda preferred to savour the time she had with Teddy while he was young. Nymphadora had grown up so quickly and then it was Hogwarts and the Aurors and the grave. Losing nearly everything had greatly changed her perspective on life.

Theo knew he was getting better when something bothered him. He was lying in a hammock strung between two orange trees drowsing in the April sun when he recalled the day of their departure from England. It seemed ages ago, his memories of that time distressingly foggy, but he remembered Granger Apparating them from the bedroom. She hadn't wanted them to go downstairs that morning. Why?

A Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff would've asked outright. A Ravenclaw would've lain in the orchard worrying at the conundrum. He was none of those so with a sense of rediscovering himself, Theo swung himself upright and padded into the house. Granger was in Switzerland again. She popped back and forth regularly, though never staying overnight. Which was good. He liked knowing where she was.

The witch had claimed the attic as her room. It was either that or the cellar. She had warded the pull-down steps against children so Teddy wouldn't hurt himself. Theo knew this because she had told Andromeda. He couldn't sense the defensive magic. He didn't feel any urge to wander back to the hammock so he presumed there weren't any other repellent charms. Pulling the dangling toggle, the ladder contraption swung down and he climbed up.

Bookshelves lined the walls floor to ceiling. Bookshelves continued across the ceiling, slotted in between the rafters. Bookshelves made up the base of the bed. Bookshelves framed the desk. Granger had brought every last tome from England. Given her proclivity towards reading, Theo could reconcile the library. He found shrugging off the significant of the shrunken furniture used as paperweights more difficult.

Her chair and Crookshanks's cushion were full-sized, tucked into a corner. The mattresses were also present. Useful additions to an unfurnished garret. However, miniature Muggle appliances, a large table, three chests of drawers, a television cabinet et al suggested Granger had cleared out her English house entirely. Theo didn't touch any of the tiny furniture but he made a mental catalogue of it. She'd even gone back and cleared out the master bedroom. He left quietly.

Outside on the north of the house in the gravelled area around the lily pond, the inquisitive wizard found Granger's outdoor chairs. He recognised them from her patio. She had brought everything. Slughorn had reputedly travelled with a piano. With the aid of a wand, you could junket about with your house quite literally on your back. Why Granger would wish to do so eluded him.

Draco was in the kitchen garden stealthily eating the early strawberries. He looked angelic with downy hair and juice red lips. Theo made sure to open the gate loudly to alert his friend to his approach. Weeks out of prison, they both still startled easily. Granger had taken to Apparating from behind the hill beyond the cottage where the noise would be less jarring.

“Just checking for ripeness.” Draco aired his excuse pro forma. Theo kissed him, licking the sweetness from his mouth. They lingered tasting until they had to part for air, with the blonde looking impish now.

“Come into the house. I have something to show you.” He tugged his friend then feeling some resistance, clarified. “I don't intend ravishment. I want you to see something. It's easier than explaining.” Theo guided him up to the attic and watched Draco take in the scene.

“She's not for England soon.” He paused, frowning at his own words. His speech was stilted, out of pace with his thoughts. His mind was sharpening from the dullness of prison in fits and snatches. Draco tried again to better express himself. “Granger has moved here, not just for a holiday. Months or more.” This time he frowned because of the implications. “For us?”

“I think so.” Theo was uncomfortable with altruism. Granger could just as easily finagle her way into the derelict vaults while living in Kent. The commute would be shorter, a significant factor when repeatedly using blood magic. When she had told them they'd be visiting France, he had presumed the stay would be a few weeks. Long enough for them to reacquaint themselves with the outside world. “I don't know if I am at ease with her genuinely giving a damn about us.”

“You look at her a lot.” Draco craned his neck to read the titles on the books above his head and to avoid meeting his friend's gaze.

“So do you.” His reply was soft.

“I don't know what I want.” He had to be honest. He wasn't himself yet. Whatever self was left to him was still half-asleep, stunned at his own freedom. Draco felt Theo's fingers touch his and gripped them. “Do you?”

“I think so.” Theo repeated, unwilling to assert certainty. Draco and Granger in a cottage filled with books. He could stand to want that. Desiring more complicated things was dangerous. If either of them approached the witch now, she would be kind. He was sure though that she wouldn't be intimate. Her ethics would not allow her to take such advantage.

“Lucky.” Draco sighed.

They went downstairs and disported themselves in the kitchen, hunting through the pantry to renew their acquaintance with tastes. Narcissa Malfoy had never prepared any dish more complicated than tea and Andromeda Tonks had married a man happy to eat whatever was put in front of him. The sisters had discovered the delights of the market in the Place de la Republique then brought great baskets of provender home.

Most of the wizards' meals were still soup and steamed vegetables. They ate all the bread and legumes they could put away with cheese as a treat. The rich allure of rillettes, potted pork, tempted them both but Draco had vomited his first red meat meal and Theo had spent the night doubled up with cramps. But a lunch of Emmenthal, anchovies, onion jam and cold consommé was as fun to scrounge as it was to eat.

Hermione strode into the kitchen wearing a business suit in burgundy, black kitten heels clicking on the tiles. As soon as she was inside, she kicked off her shoes and shed her jacket then sat down heavily at the refectory table. The verve with which she wrung a baguette into pieces arrested the attention of the parolees. Draco passed the jam while Theo poured a glass of verjuice.

“Thanks.” Hermione slathered her dismembered bread and chewed grimly. Feeling the weight of their gaze, she swallowed. “It's nothing bad. Not even unexpected.” She took a long drink. “I had forgotten how patronising Muggles could be. I was so used to being sneered at for my blood status it had slipped my mind that men are pigs.”

“I apologise on behalf of my gender.” Theo ventured, testing the waters of her ire all the while hoping to avoid any reminisces of schoolyard insults. He and Draco had sneered frequently. Granger smirked at him.

“I should've brought you two with me. You could've done the aristocratic thing of looking askance at his presumption.” She sighed and helped herself to a slice of cheese. “I've never mastered hauteur.”

“Bit short of supply myself.” Draco slid the jar of anchovies across. Hermione waved it away.

“I have a meeting with the village mairie. I don't want to breathe over him.” Freshening charms could only do so much and in her experience cured fish was resistant to toothpaste. “I'm hoping to register you quietly as French residents or at least start the application process. You've got no Muggle ID, which makes it difficult to open bank accounts for you. I'd like to keep the Confounding to a minimum.”

“Why do we need Muggle accounts?” Theo asked what he presumed to be an idle question and noticed the shift in her demeanour immediately.

“Well, in addition to blood magic and conspiring with Gringotts, I have also embezzled most of the contents of your vaults. As your custodian, I have full access, so I emptied all the ready cash out of them.” Hermione confessed. “I'd rather like to give it back to the both of you, hence the need for bank accounts.” She took a breath. “Because once you have Muggle identification and money, you can disappear if the British Ministry tries to send you back to Azkaban.”

“That potion you took? The goblin one.” Draco queried. The witch looked at him expectantly, not trying to put words into his mouth. He licked his lips waiting for the language to come. His mind was racing, his tongue lagging. “Side effects?”

“Are you asking if Gringotts somehow turned me into a lawbreaker?” She chuckled softly. “Sadly, no. This is me. I cursed Marietta Edgecombe and gave Umbridge to the centaurs.” Hermione couldn't blame the Fragarach brew for her ruthlessness. In a good light, her defiance might be mistaken for daring. Certainly at eleven years old, the Sorting Hat might have seen it that way. “I won't be told to behave by those I hold in contempt.”

“Is the Ministry so far gone you don't respect them?” Theo poured another round of verjuice. He'd rather like a glass of wine and wondered at its absence. This was not a conversation to be had over unripened grape juice. This was interesting.

“There are hundreds of diligent people doing good within the various Departments. They're the reason why I'm trying so hard to stave off the debt crisis.” Her answer sounded a cavil to the three of them. Hermione shared something with the wizards she had not shared with Harry or Ron. “The hope's worn off. All the golden dreams after victory have failed to materialise. Nothing's changed.”

“Azkaban!” Draco shouted, emotion choking him. He heaved in a deep breath as his fists clenched. Things had changed. So much. A different world, one in which he was utterly foreign. “We were punished.”

“The hammer came down pretty hard on the scapegoats, true. Justice had to be seen to be done. Then a bit more, just to make sure.” Hermione was matter-of-fact. “But the catchment area of reprisal was small. The Snatchers were the usual suspects of petty criminals and thugs. The Death Eaters were handily labelled. Easy to round 'em up and lock 'em up.” She quoted a colleague of Neville's she particularly disliked. “The appeasers and toadies weren't punished. They went back to work still bigoted arseholes.”

Hermione had made certain Umbridge went to Azkaban. If she hadn't been half-convinced the former High Inquisitor would respawn as a Dementor, she would've had the bitch Kissed. She had extracted her memories of the worst of Umbridge's excesses so the sense of injustice would never fade. Keeping the experiences in her head would dull them as her mind made a pearl around the irritant. This way, Hermione made sure she wouldn't forget why she fought.

“Why us?” Theo tried to play the question off as casual, something on par with asking why she'd chosen to wear a flattering dark red today. He didn't want to air the pitiable tendre he was developing for her. He was half convinced this was some excruciatingly prolonged form of brainwashing.

“I know slavery when I see it.” Her voice came out hard, a backlog of anger shoring her declaration. “I don't care how the Ministry dresses it up. They're selling the parolees.” Hermione took a gulp of juice and did a little slow breathing. Meditation, serenity, positive thoughts, all that. She made a small noise of amusement. “Assigning you to me was an outright bribe, but Draco was an appeal to the little devil on my shoulder. A chance to get even for all the petty wrongs of adolescence.”

“You don't want that?” The blond asked, ready to be a whipping boy if it gave him any sense of atonement. Her scornful glance made him bristle. “I was a shite to you.” He wasn't proud of his bullying but at least he'd done it well. He hadn't failed in intimidating his peers. Just in everything else. “I would in your place.”

“Would you? Really?” She tilted her head in contemplation of him. “You see, I don't think you would. I think every time you looked back on some snide little comment, you'd be half-relieved at how childish it'd been. Pulling hair in the playground. Ordinary angst.” Hermione rubbed her left forearm unconsciously. “That's how it is for me. Revenge for hexing my teeth cheapens the vengeance I want for losing my mother and father.”

“My condolences. I wasn't aware your parents had passed through the Veil.” Theo said formally. He had never met the Grangers and his father had never mentioned removing them so he felt safe in offering his sympathies. The loss of a parent scarred you for life.

“They're not dead.” The witch made herself tell him. She had told Harry and Ron and the Weasleys. Each time, the wound reopened. The pain was part of owning the deed however. Hermione didn't regret it. “I Obliviated them. Monica and Wendell are very happy in Australia. I check on them often. Mum has gone back to uni and Dad is learning how to surf.”

“Sensible of you.” He risked the remark because Theo was fairly sure most people would've asked if she could reverse the charm, and he already knew the answer.

“I couldn't leave them undefended.” Hermione had considered a dozen ways to protect her parents but the galling truth was there was no one spare to guard them. People had fallen over themselves to take the Dursleys into hiding as a favour for the Boy-Who-Lived. The Chosen One's Girl Side-Kick had to make her own arrangements.

“I wish I had thought of that.” Draco pictured his mother passing the war tranquil on a beach, untroubled by the monster in her home. If done properly, Obliviation could be reversed in witches and wizards. 

“Madam Malfoy would never have forgiven you.” Theo shook his head at his friend's regret. Few witches were as devoted to their children or as implacable in their wrath as Narcissa Black. Being squirreled away while her husband and only son were in danger would seem more a gesture of contempt than esteem.

“Why do you use Madam instead of Mrs?” Hermione asked, half curious and half intent on defusing a burgeoning quarrel. Draco's face looked like a smacked bum.

“Courtesy.” He answered simply. “The correct term for a married witch is Madam. A witch one knows has attained a Mastership should be properly addressed as Mistress.” Theo paused to edit his phrasing. “It is my understanding that Muggles shortened Mistress into 'Mrs'. Familiarity with Muggle ways and a certain slackness of manners caused the spread of the incorrect habit among magical folk.”

“Madam Pomfrey versus Mrs Weasley.” She mused, anticipating either of the Slytherins to comment unfavourably on Molly the proud blood-traitor. They didn't. Instead they seemed to be watching her anxiously. “I'm not trying to bait you. I should be opening a dialogue so I can introduce you to Muggle culture. I expect if the Ministry suspects how slack I'm being in that regard, they'll send someone over to quiz you on traffic lights and the space race.”

“Do we need to know about those things?” Even if his father had not expressly forbidden it, Theo would not have bothered taking the soft option of Muggle Studies. He had been far more interested in Divination than how the unwashed masses disported themselves. A stroll around the village to see the locals not being bucolic caricatures had disabused him of quite a few of his presumptions. Despite Granger's assurances, he wasn't convinced bicycles weren't some means of maiming pedestrians, having nearly been bowled over by an enthusiast.

“You need to know of them.” Hermione couldn't sincerely say that an understanding of the British Road Safety Act or Project Mercury had enriched her life but ignorance was a poison. “I'll set up the TV in the attic. There isn't really space for it anywhere else. While I'm out, you can watch it. We won't get British channels without a satellite box but if you really want the news in English I can get one installed.”

“You brought the television?” Theo asked as though he didn't already know she had. The conversational opener was too convenient to let pass.

“I cleared out my place.” She had wanted to put off discussing the stickier bits of her Ministry defying plan but faced with a direct query, Hermione didn't want to fob him off. “I'm in the process of selling my house.” Two pairs of eyes sharpened on her, both sets suspicious. “I've listed this cottage as my primary residence, which I can't do if I own property in the UK.”

“Why?” Draco asked as Theo tried to puzzle out her motivations for himself.

“A lot of my friends are Aurors. Sooner or later they're going to want to visit. That's easy to do in England. If they want to drop by here, they have to get clearance from the French Ministry, who will notify us unless there's an arrest warrant.” Hermione explained, actually hoping Draco and Theo were sufficiently uncaring not to feel guilty about her house. From the tightness of their expressions, she saw they weren't. “If we have some warning, you can gird yourselves.”

“Potter was not...” His voice died as he returned to his first day out of Azkaban. Draco could only just remember arriving at Granger's home with his former nemesis, who hadn't raised a hand to them. Hadn't even raised his voice. Hadn't actually looked at them much at all.

“It's not Harry I'm worried about.” She recalled her assertion the Fragarach potion hadn't changed her. It had altered nothing but her perceptions. A fresh point of view had made her reassess some parts of her life. “I broke off my relationship with Ron about eight months ago. He'll resent you being here with me, which will be one reason amongst many he'll want to see you squirm.”


	6. Lucky Penny

Theo, Draco and Hermione went to the beach on the first warm day in May. The walk was pleasant along a bridle path through blooming peach trees. The cottage's little cove was deserted, kept out of sight by limestone outcrops and a few subtle wards. Andromeda was happy enough to rub elbows with her Muggle neighbours but didn't want the yachting set invading her beach.

Hermione produced towels and a pop-up shade out of her beaded bag. She cast sunscreen charms on the three of them then handed Theo a plastic tube. He inspected it, twisting the cap off to give the unguent contained within a sniff. He made a face like Crookshanks being served tofu.

“Sunscreen.” Hermione grinned. “Spread it all over yourselves.” Theo and Draco looked askance at her. “Go on. It's a Muggle summer ritual. Like slapping mosquitoes and whinging about the humidity.” Theo squirted some of the viscous white liquid into his hand then raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I know what it looks like.” She scooped a finger into the cream and spread it on her arm. “I like using both because the charm fades if you're getting wind burned. It doesn't really cover well.”

The wizards might have objected except Hermione shed her t-shirt and shorts to reveal herself in a black bikini. Applying sunscreen to each other was a face-saving diversion. Witches of their previous social circle did not bare themselves to such a degree. Fleur Delacour's Tournament swimsuit had been very daring, and she had the excuse of being French. Beauxbatons had a reputation for modishness. 

Hermione tied up her hair with three elastics and a sticking charm as once her curls got wet there was no reasoning with them. No bathing cap yet made could contain her hair so she was going to settle for keeping it out of her face. At least seawater was more forgiving than the chlorine of the lidos where she had taken swimming lessons as a child.

“Mind doing my back?” Hermione asked generally, in a hurry to get into the water. The task fell to Theo as he had the tube in his hand. He spread the goo liberally with the witch swiping some to spread on her limbs. She took herself off when he hesitated, assuming he was done. The blond and the brunet marvelled as she ran across the sand and dove into the water.

“Everything is working fine.” Theo shifted on his towel. The baggy shorts were not nearly baggy enough.  
Draco's slightly strangled affirmative grunt made him consider other solutions than thinking pure thoughts. “The water will be cool.”

“Not enough.” Draco groaned. Granger's pert arse was going to torment him. Bloody Muggles and their shamelessness.

“If we go in now, while she's distracted, she might not notice.” He did not want to feel any more awkward than he did already. Theo had no intention of obtruding upon the witch as no one liked being ogled like a piece of meat.

They went surreptitiously into the sea, which despite Draco's pessimism did the trick nicely. Granger was swimming laps with such precision of distance they assumed she had a proximity charm on them to avoid triggering the Trace. She had given them as long a leash as she could. Neither tested it. Thus far they had avoided the attention of the authorities, which suited them very well indeed.

Theo stuck to the shallows, aware he was painfully out of condition. He did take advantage of the support of the water to flex and stretch, feeling less like a puppet with its strings cut. His back didn't ache so much when floating. Granger had mentioned yoga classes, which were available in town. Thus far he had not taken an interest but feeling now how much his hips and shoulders didn't protest as he moved, Theo could see the point of her suggestion. He wanted to rid his bones of the cold of Azkaban.

With a Seeker's daring, Draco swam out beyond the breaking waves and tried to mimic the witch. He'd been a good swimmer once. The Malfoys had a villa in Greece and he'd spent gloriously idle summers splashing about. Did they still own the property? The thought of some Ministry yob slobbing about in the crisp white house, scratching the terrazzo floors or chopping down the olive grove made him irrationally angry. He misjudged a stroke, took a mouthful of water then spluttering started to sink. He thrashed trying to keep above the surface but a wave hit him and he panicked as he went under.

Hermione didn't hear him but the ring on her finger burned suddenly. She stopped swimming, pulling her wand from her hair as she trod water. She could see Theo's head turning left and right to scan the bay then he surged forward to rush through the waves. Draco was out of sight but within the ninety-five yards she had set on her own proximity charm.

“Accio Draco!” Hermione shouted and a pale form swept through the water, smacking into her flailing. An elbow connected with her chin. She kept her grip on her wand but couldn't get a good grasp on him as he struggled. “Ambulare Super Aquas!” The witch cast a spell she'd seen George Weasley use to prank some Muggles. Her gesture was clumsy so Draco ended on his bum on the surface of the water instead of beatifically standing atop the waves.

She towed him back to shore and helped by Theo hauled him onto the sand. Draco coughed and choked, shaking with his attempts to quell his own response. He felt himself be pulled into a kneeling position so someone could support him as he gasped. Someone else cast something then held a hand palm cupped near his mouth. Warm, fresh air wafted against his lips. He heaved in deep breaths and finally convinced his lungs he wasn't dying.

“Which spell did you use?” Theo inquired, rubbing Draco's back as he wheezed.

“Spiritus Vitae. It's very handy. Oxygen for breathing difficulties and the gas is hot enough to help treat hypothermia by warming the core.” Hermione maintained the charm until the blond nodded, signalling he was recovered. She shook out her hand. “I've made a hobby of learning every first aid spell I can. I didn't know enough when Harry, Ron and I were on the run. Ron Splinched himself. All we had was Dittany.” Taking a deep breath in sympathy with Draco, the witch put her wand away. “How are you feeling?”

“Can't even drown right.” Draco muttered, literally and metaphorically on his knees.

“Good.” Theo said heavily. He met the blond's glare with equanimity. “I don't want you dead.”

“For Hell's sake.” Hermione lost her patience with the Slytherin sangfroid and hugged Draco. “Come here and hug him too.” She ordered the brunet imperiously. Theo complied, putting an arm around them both unsure whether to praise or curse.

Draco rested his forehead on her shoulder, too shocked to really enjoy the view. When the water had closed over his head he had thought he was back in Azkaban, airless, voiceless, weak and in agony. He had struggled but the soul-deep apathy had dragged at him, pulling him into the abyss. That it was less than ten feet down to the sand where he had been swimming didn't matter; in his mind he had been sinking to hadal depths.

“I'm sorry.” Draco murmured to Granger's skin, his lips close enough to taste the salt. “So sorry.”

“You are being a bit maudlin now, yes.” She confirmed as though he was talking about himself. He tried to protest but was stilled by her hand on his back, her fingers finding Theo's and rubbing a slow circuit. “Take it as read that I accept your apology, that neither you nor I would be here if I still held a grudge and like Theo I don't want you dead.”

“And do you like Theo?” The blond inquired with unexpected cunning.

“I think I will, once he's had a chance to put himself back together.” Hermione felt Theo's hand twitch against hers and met his eyes. “Enough demands have been made on you. Believe me, I know what that's like.” Her mouth twisted into a wry smile that he wanted to kiss. “So, no promises. But whatever else this experience gives us, I hope we can be friends.”

Both Theo and Draco wanted that so much they couldn't speak. Hermione coaxed the blond back into the water up to his waist while the brunet supported him and they shook off the pathos of the moment with a splash fight. The playful exchange turned into a chase up and down the beach throwing seaweed at each other until they collapsed laughing on the towels.

Windblown and sandy, they strolled back to the cottage. The wizards had a nap after showering while Hermione sat in the garden working the knots out of her hair. She turned when someone rattled the back gate, it was difficult to knock on wrought iron, and called out a greeting in French with a Breton accent.

The old man was a wizard. He wasn't wearing robes or sporting any particularly eldritch accoutrements but no one other than a wizard would have a beard down to his knees carefully braided into Celtic knots. Hermione returned the greeting and went to the gate. She didn't open it immediately, a hesitation the old man did not seem to notice.

“I catch you from the sea, mamzelle.” He smiled, pleased to see a girl who looked like she had been swimming not lying lacquered on the sand to be ogled. “I would not impose but I come from the Ministére.” Seeing her concern, he hastily introduced himself. “I am Gilles Bombard-Kemener, no one but a fool with an abacus. My grandson Bertrand is a clerk. It is he who asked me to be his messenger.”

“I've read your book on second phase derivatives in forecasting Arithmancy, Monsieur. Challenging stuff.” Hermione extended her hand, which he bowed over with a soft chuckle.

“You and perhaps nine others, you are kind.” Gilles had published at the insistence of his daughter, who worked in the Ministry Archives and lamented often about the melange of notes bequeathed to the state. At her behest, his life's work had been properly edited and submitted to the Acamedie Francaise des Sorciers. “My grandson is mezv 'vel ur person, so I come in his stead.”

“I'm sorry. I don't understand your phrase.” She had been managing fairly well following M. Bombard-Kemener's rolled 'r' and his lilt, which reminded her of Scots English, but his vernacular expression eluded her completely.

“Pardon, mamzelle. I mean he is drunk as a vicar.” The old wizard spoke slowly. “His good friend has just become a father so the office is wetting the baby's head.” He chuckled again. Petit Bertrand had no stomach for liquor. “I know Pergignan well enough to Apparate. My poor happy grandson would have sent himself to Andorra.” 

Over the shoulder of the jeune fille, Gilles saw a young man come out of the cottage then hastily retreat inside. Despite his age, his eyes were good enough to see the black smudge on the boy's left arm. Bien sur. Why else would English Aurors want to come to a little Roussillon village?

“So it is no trouble.” He continued airily, making his decision. Gilles handed over one of the letters his grandson had given him to deliver. This one was a scroll edged with silver and sealed with pale blue wax. “An invitation from Beauxbatons. Madame la Directrice heard of your coming to France but not where. She did not wish to merely send an owl.”

Hermione thanked the old wizard. He bowed again, refused an offer of tea and Disapparated. Out of habit she waved her wand over the invitation checking for nasty surprises. There were none. Olympe Maxime's bold handwriting in glittering azure conveyed respects, mild reproach for not announcing she was in the country, and a wish for Hermione Jean Granger, O.M. (First Class) to give a speech at the Beauxbatons graduation ceremony. Gabrielle Delacour would be among those receiving their diplomas, and the Delacour family were proud supporters of Mademoiselle Granger's work at the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

Draco heard Granger's groan through the kitchen door and opened it hastily. She walked past him, still reading a fancy scroll then made another noise of dismay. He glanced to the deserted back gate before shutting the door. Not a French Auror, then. His fear ebbed a little. He didn't want their refuge assailed.

“Why does everyone think I enjoy public speaking?” Hermione asked Draco and the scroll as she rolled the latter. Instead of replying verbally, the wizard sat at the table and raised his hand, enthusiastically waving it in the air as though he really, really wanted to give the answer. “Very funny. I thought you were having a nap.”

“Theo's snoring.” Draco shrugged. Her expression told him she knew he wasn't telling her the whole truth but he didn't want to talk about the darkness behind his eyes hungering to trap him. Sleep had eluded him.

“I'm surprised you can hear him through the wall.” She observed, debating with herself how much she should explain to Madam Maxime about her resignation from the Ministry or her current living arrangements. Either subject was awkward. Perhaps a simple refusal with polite regrets citing some previous engagement. Maybe if she hinted a demanding hush-hush project? Possibly not, as the Headmistress had many contacts she could quiz and being not informed of such an undertaking might ruffle the French Ministry's feathers. Brazening it out with a blunt 'non' was too crass. Damn.

“Same bed.” He told her, wondering if she would be shocked. Granger merely nodded and continued to stare at the scroll. “Care to join us?”

“There isn't room.” Hermione had been paying attention. She looked up to smile at him. “You are feeling a bit better then?”

“I don't know.” Draco shrugged again. “Nothing seems to stay in my head.”

“That's a fairly common symptom. I had it. Padma as well. Others too, I expect, but they didn't assume they could return to their studies immediately. I took more notes in my Seventh Year than I did for all the other Years combined. If I didn't write it down, I forgot it.” She made a face. The frustration had made it worse. She'd felt as dumb as Goyle and as ineffectual as mist. “Only advice I can give is to try to take it in your stride. Which is spectacularly unhelpful, I know.”

“How long did it take you? To get better?” He eyed her, not seeing the schoolgirl in her at all. She was someone he knew but it was as though he had forgotten what bossy, swotty Granger looked like. Hermione was different. Hermione he liked.

“Years.” The witch grimaced, batting the scroll onto the floor where Crookshanks promptly sat on it. “I'd just got up to speed with school when suddenly it was over. Then it was the Ministry and trying to get other people to care.” Hermione shook her head. “The feeling of alienation hasn't gone away. I sympathise with the goblins. Putting up with wizarding nonsense for centuries would make me want to sharpen an axe too.”

“At least you can go back to the Muggles.” Draco tugged at the manacle on his wrist. There was an abraded ring of red skin beneath it, an effect of his leashed magic rather than friction.

“People say that but it's not true.” If the Malfoy she'd known at Hogwarts had said that to her, she would've taken it as an insult. Hermione knew Draco didn't mean it that way now. “I'm a witch. Born of Muggles or born of magical folk, I'm a witch. I can pretend to be a Muggle but I'm really not. No more than you and Theo are with those shackles on you.”

Draco thought about what she had said all through the afternoon and into the evening. Hermione Apparated to Chur for a late meeting with Ulrik that had Theo muttering about hobnobbing or it might have been hob nobbling. She brought back a chocolate cake as dark as sin and as rich as Croesus. The household devoured it watching the Aristocats on DVD in the attic after dinner. Draco, Theo and Hermione stayed up to watch Toy Story and fell asleep together halfway through.


	7. Penny Wise, Pound Foolish

Narcissa Malfoy neé Black had made a promise to herself. After she had been released from Azkaban, once she could bear to look at herself in the mirror again, she had made a vow. Every morning when she woke, she would get out of bed and sit at her vanity. At first the distance at been enormous and enervating. She had dragged herself then sat because Narcissa Malfoy never broke a promise, before dragging herself back into the covers. Now she could rise and sit at the dainty table and do her hair without feeling exhausted.

Frustrated, yes. Her hands were clumsy with the silver-backed brushes. She was never convinced she looked as well coiffed or as effortlessly beautiful as she would if she had magic. Narcissa did not consider herself to be a foolish woman. She could count. But the touch of passing time had been gentle upon her until Azkaban. Now when she looked into the mirror she saw a hag; an old bent crone bereft of comfort or charm.

On the bad days when her hands shook she would return to bed and try to dream of happier times. There were little windows in her life where everything had been as it should be. She had married Lucius straight out of Hogwarts at the height of the Dark Lord's power but it hadn't been Voldemort her parents had been seeking to appease with the match. Their whole world had crumbled when Andromeda had thrown herself away on Tonks the Mudblood. Wizarding society had to be reassured the Blacks knew their proper place.

Which was a tiny house in the south of France with the remnants of her family. Narcissa tried not to think of the unpleasantnesses she had endured. Andromeda against all sense had been willing to stand surety for her with the Ministry elsewise she would have likely died in Azkaban or been immured in St Mungo's. Lucius was gone from her life but she had Draco.

Draco who was broken and shattered and she had feared past mending. When he had arrived at the cottage, her little boy had been a ghost. She had clung to him, trying to convince herself he was well and all would be well but Narcissa knew a lie when she heard it. All was not well. Lucius had sacrificed their son. Voldemort had tortured him. The Ministry had imprisoned him.

And the Mudblood brought him chocolate cake and made him watch a silly Muggle drawn-play about talking cats and he had laughed. A soft laugh easily missed but Narcissa lived her days for signs her little dragon was still alive. Draco had sat beside Theo, the boys leaning against each other, at peace together and content to stay to watch more Muggle nonsense.

Narcissa liked Theodore Nott. A sensible, quiet young man who would treat her son well. If whatever it was between them became serious, she could approve their match. Giving her consent would be easy. There were difficulties of course but nothing that could not be arranged quietly. With the right sort of witch, Narcissa could have grandchildren of her own blood. Life could be happy again.

Hermione Granger was not the right sort of witch. Andromeda thought the sun shone out of the chit's arse. She let her take darling Teddy on strolls around the village when the child's enthusiasm outwore even the most doting grandmother's verve. Narcissa was almost certain her sister would have allowed her the same privilege, almost certain, except for the Ministry's leash.

If the Mudblood had commiserated with her or expressed her sympathy, Narcissa could've hated her. But she hadn't. She had instead manipulated the goblins into helping her manoeuvre the Ministry into a position where she could dictate terms outright. It was not subtle but it was secure and after seeing her life be torn to pieces, Narcissa valued security.

So she kept her silence about the Mudblood. She would allow Draco his dalliance if it was a dalliance he wished, all the while encouraging his relationship with Theo. In time, her son would want to rejoin the wizarding world and he would leave Hermione Granger behind. There would always be gratitude for what she had done. Narcissa was not ungrateful. She never let a debt go unpaid. But nothing more. Her son would be free to take his father's place and restore the Malfoy name.

The traitorous inner voice that whispered perhaps Draco was better off not stepping into Lucius's shoes was hastily quashed. Narcissa clung to the hope that they could return to their home, to the life they had, to the traditions they had upheld, and to the peace they had enjoyed before madmen had ruined them all. She clung hard because she knew such hope was a fleeting light in the endless gloom.

Small feet thundered down the hallway then a small fist knocked loudly on her door. Narcissa made a few frantic passes with the hairbrush to look poised before rising to admit her great-nephew. He cannoned into her legs, hopped and down then babbled in a mix of French and English. This was a morning ritual to which she had adapted as against all expectation, she was rather fond of the half-blood product of her niece's folly with the werewolf.

“Is Grandmere making pancakes?” Narcissa asked. Teddy nodded, his hair going pink with delight. He held out his hand, mercifully unsticky at the moment, to escort her downstairs for breakfast. She was making an effort to teach him proper manners as the child of two war heroes would be in the public eye, and given the abysmal standards of the Prophet currently the press clearly wouldn't have any manners of their own.

Andromeda had not yet mastered the art of the crepe but her cinnamon butter was delicious and Teddy was easily distracted by his fruit salad. He always ate the banana pieces first before they went soggy then he picked through the rest hunting for blueberries. Narcissa would have scolded Draco at the same age however a busy Teddy meant a quiet Teddy.

The thunderclap of an Apparition in the back garden made both witches jump. Andromeda drew her wand. Narcissa shifted closer to her great-nephew ready to grab him and run for the cellar where her sister kept the emergency Portkey. Peeking out the kitchen window, Andromeda relaxed somewhat when she recognised the two men near her aquilegias.

“It's Dean.” She told Narcissa over her shoulder then frowned slightly. “He's brought Ronald. Delightful.” Andromeda had fortunately not had much experience with young love. She'd only ever had eyes for Ted. The widow considered herself fortunate as from what she'd seen between Hermione and Ron thwarted romance was tiresome.

“Not chums with the Weasleys?” Narcissa inquired without an audible hint of her contempt towards the blood-traitors.

“Arthur tinkers and Molly gossips. They're both slack, as you well know.” Andromeda shot her sister a cautioning glare before she opened the kitchen door to welcome in the young man who had been with her husband when he died. She hugged him despite not being a particularly demonstrative person. “Dean, good to see you.”

“You too, Andromeda.” Dean reached into his pocket to unshrink a brown paper wrapped box. “I brought someone a late you-can-guess of that thing you mentioned.” As the eldest child in his family, he knew the impatience of kids in the presence of anything that could remotely be a gift. He smiled when Andromeda slyly slid the box under the sink. She would give it to Teddy after breakfast.

“Have you eaten?” She asked.

“Yeah, thanks, we had a big spread at mum's.” Ron cut in before Dean could keep nattering. “We're here officially, Mrs Tonks. Where's Hermione and the Snakes?”

Andromeda didn't have a particular grudge against Ronald Weasley. She found him lazy, which irritated her as she knew he had a good head on his shoulders. He rarely could be bothered making the effort, content to have Hermione do the thinking for him. Too much like Arthur, who let Molly rule the roost in favour of playing with his Muggle gadgets. That said, his casual slur annoyed her. Some of Hermione's simmering resentment had rubbed off on her hostess so Andromeda answered with a touch of venom.

“They had a late night. They're still in bed.” Innocent words with just a hint of a smile as though she was amused by a youthful indiscretion. She had been a Slytherin, after all. A happy marriage with a Hufflepuff hadn't blunted her fangs. “Mind the pan, Dean. I'll roust them up.”

Andromeda sauntered out of the kitchen. Naturally Ronald followed her because his mother had never had the time to instruct him on the rudiments of comportment. Nymphadora had rolled her eyes and wilfully rearranged the cutlery but she had made an effort on special occasions. She wouldn't have tried to sticky-beak into an ex's bedroom.

The attic stairs were down. Andromeda climbed up far enough to pop her head above floor level. She doubted there were any goings-on going on as Hermione had more sense than that and the boys would've done their elders the courtesy of broaching the subject prior to any indiscretion. However, half-way up the ladder meant she blocked Auror Weasley's view completely.

“Good morning.” Andromeda hailed the somnolent trio sprawled amongst the cushions. “Breakfast is ready. Dean and Ronald are here too.” She cautioned as Hermione sat up, her hair a chaotic nimbus. Draco buried his face in a pillow while Theo shifted into the warm spot the witch vacated. “Officially, I believe.”

“Hermione, I want to talk to you.” Ron called up. “It's Auror business, no mucking about.”

“The French Ministry was supposed to tell us if you were coming.” The expression on the Muggle-born witch's face was belligerent as she stomped to the top of the ladder and glared down. “We've just woken up.”

“Are those bastards up there with you?” He demanded, unpleasantly surprised. “What the Hell are they doing in your room?”

“Having a lie in, obviously.” Hermione was itchy from sleeping in yesterday's clothes and muzzy from sudden awakening. If Ron and Dean had come unannounced, something was clearly amiss. She reviewed every suspect thing she had done in the last fortnight. Nothing actionable. Gringotts was within their rights to supervise the opening of any vault and their de facto endorsement of her blood ritual made the procedure legal. She'd possibly broken Muggle laws on money laundering, unavoidable considering she absolutely could not tell the truth about where the money came from, but that wouldn't bring Ron to her door.

“We're here for an inspection.” Ron shouted up, his face going red at the implication of her words. He told himself he wasn't going to go spare. He didn't honestly think Hermione would consort with the enemy, even if he could see almost all of her bare legs as she climbed down the ladder. Mrs Tonks stepped out of the way while giving him a dirty look. “You've been hiding out here for months. That's suspicious.”

“Of course it is. Why would anyone want to stay at a peaceful cottage in the south of France within walking distance of the Mediterranean?” Her sarcasm was waking up faster than her discretion. Hermione bit her lip before more sass could escape. “Fine. Right, what do you and Dean need to inspect?”

“Living conditions. Security. The prisoners.” He said mulishly, not liking the feeling of being in the wrong. When Harry had seen Hermione's name come up on the roster he'd been reluctant to go. He hadn't wanted to quarrel with her. Ron didn't want to quarrel with her either but he did want to talk. Somewhere without Slytherins looking at him down their noses.

“Parolees.” Hermione corrected. “Theo and Draco aren't prisoners any more.”

“Theo and Draco.” Ron mimicked her voice snidely. “Very chummy.”

“That's right, Ronald.” She spoke with exaggerated care. “I am on first name terms with my Ministry mandated slaves. We are having a lovely time enjoying our holiday while I savour unemployment and they recover from malnutrition.”

“That's not my bloody fault!” He snapped, recognising one of her rants when it started. She'd harangue at the flick of a wand now, bending ears all over the Ministry. Ron was a bit fed up of her lumping him in with the duffers who'd let Malfoy, Nott, and the like out of Azkaban. “You quit. Damn near hexed Runcorn on the way out as I heard it.”

“He was lucky he didn't end up as a sea urchin like Thicknesse.” Hermione hissed. Had she not been concentrating so hard on leaving with dignity, she would've gone postal and left a trail of invertebrates in her wake.

“You've proven your point. Why don't you come back? You could transfer to the DMLE and change the law that way.” Ron coaxed. It'd be like old times, the three of them together battling the forces of evil. Only this time victory demanded paperwork. “You'd soon have them running on schedule.”

“They late with your pay-checks again?” She asked, caught by his grumble. Ron would hate to be thought of as a penny-pincher. Discussing money embarrassed him, a hangover from his childhood. He would never whinge to his bosses about the delays with his salary. Hermione frowned at his shrug. “It took them weeks to get the money to everyone. Neville said he put his name down on the 'no hurry' list and they've still not caught up on his wages.”

“I'm only fussed because I'm helping Mum out with the Burrow.” He tried to soothe. Rebuilding their home was more expensive than his parents had anticipated. Building supplies were scarce even with magic and some things couldn't be duplicated or Transfigured. No one wanted their house to fall down with a miscast Finite.

“I'll sort it out.” Hermione took a deep breath. Yes, she would sort this. She had a list. Mentally shifting 'make sure everyone gets paid' to the top, she smiled. “Anything else you need?”

Ron was sufficiently unnerved by her expression that he decided to defer their chat. Whatever she was plotting, it wasn't good. He could see now why Harry had wanted to avoid their friend. Hermione was fixing to light a firecracker under someone's arse and the BANG would be stupendous. So Auror Weasley ate breakfast with the Tonks, the Malfoys and Nott while glaring at the latter two.

He did his damn inspection of the premises while Dean played on the floor with Teddy and his new Star Wars Lego. Thomas put his professional hat on to interrogate the Ferret and Nott, as he considered them flight risks. Ron was sure Hermione had a good hold on their leash and was uncomfortable with the images that put in his head. She was sitting at the kitchen table making notes, still smiling, when he marched in.

“Did you coach them what to say?” Ron wasn't stupid. Nott and Malfoy had used different words but they had said the same thing; they appreciated the opportunity the Ministry had given them to see the error of their ways. A flock of dragons couldn't produce enough crap to out stink that bilge. “You did, didn't you?”

“Not at all.” Hermione put her pen down, regarding him with her well-honed business face. “Draco and Theo have realised how confined their world was and want to broaden their horizons.” She quoted the IMP. Ron didn't recognise the source. “We've had such fun. Who wouldn't want to bind their magic in exchange for picnics and lovely excursions to the beach?”

“Hermione.” He knew she was taking the piss now. “They're not worth the sort of trouble cocking a snook the Ministry will get you.”

“No one is.” She said quietly. “That's the problem. Dirk Cresswell was hauled out of the Ministry in front of hundreds of people and no one said a damn thing. It's so easy to convince ourselves that strangers aren't worth the risk.” Hermione didn't shout or point her finger or gnash her teeth but she was implacable. “So I am doing things because no one else will. Because I can.”


	8. Borrower nor Lender

Bold declarations were great as slogans. Hermione heard her own words echo as Ron and Dean left. Because she could. She didn't need to justify it, just fix the problem and try to help society. She could print t-shirts to rally people to the cause with her bold shiny declaration. Unfortunately, slogans needed to have substance behind them. Substance that fell to her to provide. The onset of existential angst didn't begin until she Apparated to London to negotiate with Kenelm Marchbanks, the British Minister of Magic.

The goblins had to go through official channels. There was more than enough bad blood between Gringotts and the Ministry to bog efforts at cooperation without the new rancour of the defaulting loans. Having the Minister authorise wholesale seizure of vaults, superseding the goblins' authority, was one more slap in the face. Ulrik had told her privately that the bank had already informed Marchbanks there would be no more extension of credit. He had not taken it well.

Hermione didn't have to go through official channels.

Reg Cattermole had been a sympathetic ear during her time at the DRCMC and he was keen to avoid being shouted at by disgruntled people. The troubles in the Ministry were stretching everyone's nerves. Bitching at the maintenance staff was almost traditional, and they were fed up with it. He could get her into the building discretely as well as provide an impromptu meeting with Minister Marchbanks via a malfunctioning elevator.

Waiting for the right moment gave her plenty of time to fret about her proposal and make contingency plans. Hermione had discussed her trip with Andromeda, thankful for pointers on how to manipulate Marchbanks into listening to her. Conspiracies and backroom deals weren't her forté. However, she had already tried making an appointment, lodging suggestions, waiting patiently, and storming into meetings. That had got her at first patted on the head then latterly tersely removed.

The new strategy of being surreptitiously reasonable, so very reasonable, made Hermione feel diabolic. She would much rather lay out her offer honestly to get a show of hands. Unfortunately, Marchbanks and Shafiq had the Ministry in such a whirl of politicking that everyone was stepping on everyone else's fingers while blaming their underlings.

At Reg's nod, Hermione stepped out from an alcove on the second floor and slipped into the elevator occupied by a very well dressed wizard. The grill clicked shut then lurched before retracting quickly into one of the endless conduits. She counted under her breath, smiling as the elevator juddered to a halt on '4'. The man beside her straightened his cravat in irritation before tapping the roof with his wand. Nothing happened.

Hermione turned and dropped her disguise. Marchbanks's purposeful but pleasant expression didn't shift. He could be exceptionally charming when he tried and he worked as hard as any of his employees. He was however a traditionalist. While he had never said anything directly, Harry, Ron, and herself had felt his disapproval of their fame. Heroes were laudable when needed but they weren't needed any longer.

“Miss Granger.” Kenelm braced himself for an impassioned speech on the rights of criminals. There would doubtless be many correctly cited points from Muggle law and the Ministry's own archives. She should have an escort as she was no longer an employee. He would have to express his displeasure to Security at next opportunity. This was hardly the first time she had been allowed to flout the rules. “I trust you are having a productive day.”

“The Ministry is tens of millions of Galleons in debt that you are struggling to repay.” Hermione went right for the jugular as she didn't have much time. Reg couldn't hold the elevator for long without implicating himself in this trick, which she wanted to avoid. “I can help you refinance.” She handed him a dossier. “Please consider my suggestions.”

“I am not interested in pie in the sky, Miss Granger.” Kenelm didn't have much of a temper, a blessing in politics, so he didn't snap at the girl. “Kindly allow the wizards and witches who are properly qualified deal with any alleged budget shortfall.” He took the dossier as it seemed arrogant to vanish it, and he wanted to know how she had discovered the amount she had mentioned. “You are not in a position to assist. Quite literally at the moment as I believe as after your resignation, you are without a position at all.”

“With respect, Minister, this isn't about me. This is about the citizens of magical Britain, who have earned some peace and security.” She paraphrased one of his own speeches. His eyes narrowed just enough that she noticed. Hermione didn't smile. She didn't want to gloat and he likely thought she was being snide rather than showing she had been paying attention. “I can help, without expectation of favour or preferment.”

“I will consider your words.” The Minister said magnanimously as the elevator shuddered, moving again. “Is there anything else?”

“I have no plans to go public with what I know. I understand what sort of panic that would cause.” Hermione tried to sound mild and compliant. She honestly did want to work with Marchbanks quietly. Making a big noise about decades of financial mismanagement wouldn't fix the problem. It would very probably make it worse. “If you wish to discuss this matter with me, I will be at Mrs Tonks's cottage. Thank you for your time.”

When the elevator jerked to a halt and the grill opened, Hermione made a hasty retreat. She was hoping the Minister would read the dossier then agree to her assistance. There was plenty of scope for modification and she would be entirely prepared to keep her mouth shut long-term about the restructuring if he demanded it.

Hermione left the Ministry and Apparated back to France. She arrived on the grassy verge at the base of the hill behind the cottage, an awkward piece of ground too much trouble to flatten and not picturesque enough to plant. Standing there staring as the clouds drifted uncaring above, the witch couldn't shake her disquietude.

She wasn't much given to random anxiety. She worked hard in order to reassure herself she had done everything she could. And her opinion of Divination was well known. So ominous portents of doom could go hang. Hermione acknowledged she had a bad feeling then analysed it. What was bothering her? What had she missed? She'd been over and over her proposal, wanting it to be perfect. So, what was the problem?

Marchbanks hadn't asked where she got the money.

Was that an alarm bell? Should she be concerned? He hadn't asked much of anything. Hermione mulled over the meeting as she walked to the cottage. She didn't want to be paranoid. But. The Minister was in a very awkward position. He needed to make hard choices and assuming he was unwilling to fall on his sword, he needed to find someone to blame. There were plenty of political rivals he could point to and of course his predecessors were fair game.

Marchbanks wasn't stupid and he wasn't grateful. Hermione hoped his dislike of the feted heroes wouldn't blind him to the need to accept her help. She was more than prepared to be a silent partner in salvaging the Ministry. Would he believe her assurance of silence? Maybe, depending on how bad the skulduggery was behind the scenes. The Minister might believe he was being set up for a fall.

She had kept the information in the dossier impersonal. Charts, projections and an outline of a repayment plan for each Department. The goblins had been invaluable with the numbers but they were aware several Department Heads and Deputy Heads had borrowed from outside sources to keep out of the red. Several Death Eaters had received harsher-than-average sentences solely because people owed them money. You didn't have to repay a prisoner.

Andromeda was in the garden with Teddy, who was helping his grandmother weed by grabbing handfuls of every plant. His hands were stained green, the nasturtiums looked battered, and Mrs Tonks was smiling. Her expression became more wooden as Hermione shared her misgivings about her meeting with the Minister.

“Whatever he does, it won't be today.” Andromeda spoke once the younger witch had run down. “The Marchbanks don't jump into anything. He'll read your dossier then do some snooping.” She considered what she knew of Kenelm; a plodder and a political animal. His family were shrewd but conservative. “He may decide to go quietly.”

“I was hoping to keep the status quo. People were panicky when Kingsley died. I got owls from other Muggle-borns asking me if I thought they should get out of the country, just in case.” Hermione crouched to point out a dandelion to Teddy. He pulled it up then offered it to her gallantly. “Thank you, kind sir.” She nipped off the root, handy for potions, before tucking the flower behind her ear. “I've been so busy with the goblins, I don't know what's going on at the Ministry. His reaction seemed off, somehow.”

“It may be time for Plan B.” Personally, Andromeda wanted to avoid dramatic gestures. She wanted her grandson safe, her sister healthy, and her nephew and his friend happy. Hermione wasn't just a guest, she was a co-conspirator. Their Plan A was to quietly defy the Ministry. Plan B was much louder.

“I would rather Marchbanks took my advice. I worked really hard on those spreadsheets.” She grumbled, not swearing because Teddy repeated everything he heard. Hermione watched the little boy play in the dirt. He looked to be having a lovely time. The nasturtiums would probably recover. “I'll go run some errands in case you're right. We may have to leave in a hurry.”

Because her sister had endured enough surprises in her life, Andromeda broached the subject of Plan B with Narcissa while the boys had their nap. What Draco and Theo might've been doing in Draco's room to make themselves tired, neither witch felt the need to comment upon. The youngest Black daughter made no comment at all, merely nodding wearily before retiring to her own bed while her sister checked the emergency trunk. Just in case.

Hermione came back after seven o'clock with six French National identity cards, a lead box, a silver 2001 Renault minivan with heavily tinted windows, and a suitcase full of cash. She felt like a villain in an action movie and laughed out loud when she found Draco and Theo watching GoldenEye. The wizards made room for her on the cushions they'd scattered on the floor.

While Hermione had spent most of her time post-war working, she had not neglected her social life. She had flirted in bars, had danced in too-loud clubs chosen by Ginny who liked any music so long as it roared, and snogged in discrete nooks on occasion. So she had a fairly good sense for when she was being seduced.

Theo was on her right side with his back against the bed. His arm went casually behind her, his hand on her shoulder plausibly companionable. Draco had been propped up on his elbow when she had joined them, which was evidently no longer comfortable as he had re-arranged his cushions. One now rested against her leg with his hand brushing her knee.

That phase lasted until James Bond regained consciousness in the helicopter. Theo started playing with her hair and Draco shifted onto his back, his head pillowed on her thigh. Hermione settled quite comfortably in their closeness. She kept her eyes on the screen until Draco rolled onto his side facing her and looked up at her as Theo's hand slid across her shoulder to the collar of her shirt, his fingers caressing her neck.

“Draco and I have been talking.” Theo whispered in Granger's ear. She'd worn perfume today. A hint of a light floral scent lingered. “About power and self-respect.”

“And sex.” Draco added, reaching out to smooth his fingertips over her blouse. Silk or some Muggle fabric that felt like silk. He rubbed his way across her stomach to toy with the buttons, stopping when she caught his hand.

“I don't want to take advantage.” Hermione said firmly. She didn't move, didn't push them away but neither did she reach for them.

“We know.” Theo nipped her earlobe, grinning at her frisson tremble in response. Draco slid his hand out of her grasp and began untucking her shirt. “We want to take advantage of you.”

“I thought you wanted each other.” James Bond wasn't nearly as much of a chaperone as he should have been. Hermione thought about the beach, about her pleasure at their not-quite-hidden admiration, at her enjoyment of their company. Getting to know them as young men in a way she couldn't with Ron or Neville or Dean. She didn't have to explain her scars to the Slytherins. Or compare wounds in a peculiarly Gryffindor competitive way, to reassure both parties they'd done enough.

“We do.” Theo spoke as Draco pushed her blouse up to kiss her bare skin. “Very much.” He smiled, recalling a pleasant afternoon exploring the blond's body. They had taken their time, anticipating their own nervous rapidity and had reacquainted themselves with pleasure. “We want you too.”

“I can't.” Hermione shook her head gently. “Not while you're suppressed. You need to be free to choose, and I don't want to be a witch of convenience.”

“I said you would say that.” A measure of smugness twisted Theo's smile into a smirk. Draco continued to kiss, unbuttoning when her shirt became a barrier. “Which is why we are telling you this way. Showing you who is in charge.” He pulled her towards him, his hands twining in her hair. “The bond is mutual. You are here for us.”

Theo kissed her, smearing the careful paint on her mouth then leaned back to allow Draco his taste. The blond sat up to join his lover in tormenting the witch. They had planned this, discussed what they wanted to say, how far they wanted to go, how much they thought they could get away with before she took herself from them.

“We want you.” Draco said softly, his lips brushing hers. He held one of her hands, Theo taking the other before they closed the circle. Somewhere behind him the Muggle Secret Agent exploded something. That seemed to happen a lot. “With us.” 

“You will change your mind when you're free.” Hermione said hoarsely, telling herself it wouldn't sting so much, that it wouldn't be personal when they left for greener pastures. She didn't want to cage them and whatever idle fancies she might have born of proximity and compassion, she had to be able to look at herself in the mirror.

“Possibly.” Theo averred. He and Draco had talked about that too. They had to go out into the world if only to say they had done so. “Which is why we are informing you now, so you know.” He squeezed her hand then released her. “We wanted to make sure you would remember this conversation.” He met her stunned look with a serpentine smile. “I believe that is the summons for dinner.”

The wizards rose and with the composure got by an afternoon's thorough debauchery, climbed down the attic ladder to sate a publicly appropriate hunger. They were out of sight by the time Hermione had regained command of her limbs. She glared at her shaking hands as she buttoned her shirt. Well. Her brain roused itself from a pink fog slowly. Well, damn.


	9. Tolar to Lev

Being proven right was not always the salve it is supposed to be. Hermione woke early, sweating from heated dreams and padded to the kitchen to make tea. She was still half-asleep when the Galleon around her neck suddenly went hot. Her DA coin was a handy way to communicate in emergencies as no one had yet succeeded in charming a mobile phone to work reliably near magic.

HG raid rpt raid tonks 0600 rsvp NL

Hermione blinked as the letters appeared. Her fingers automatically sent the received code as she rushed upstairs to wake Andromeda. The older witch didn't dally asking questions. She got dressed, woke Narcissa then bundled her sister and her grandson into the Renault Hermione had bought. Ted had harped on about her learning how to drive. She had only taken lessons to shut him up. He would've been chuckling now.

Andromeda loaded her emergency chest into the back of the minivan as well as her owl, Hermione's owl, and Crookshanks. She took their identity cards but not the Portkey in the cellar as it was registered with the British Ministry. Driving sedately away, the newly minted Mme Valerie Morel headed west towards the mountains and the Spanish border while Hermione Disapparated with Draco and Theo.

They arrived in front of the monument in Preseren Square in Ljubljana in a thunderstorm. Hermione would've preferred a less public place but she had only Apparated to the Slovenian capital once and needed somewhere memorable. She leaned against the poet's plinth as she got her bearings. The weather was the deciding factor. If anyone was staring plaintively into the rain at five am, she would simply have to risk it.

She cast Impervius, Warming, and Disillusionment charms on the three of them then pulled an old coin out of her pocket. It was a Knut, bent along one edge and green with verdigris. Hermione flipped it then caught the coin in both hands. When Ulrik had shown her how to activate the token he'd done it one handed, sliding the Knut easily between his fingers. The first time she had tried it she'd dropped the damn thing.

Goblins couldn't Apparate. They wouldn't have to dig tunnels if they could simply hop from place to place at their whim. However, they could always find what belonged to them and not all Ministries regulated the manufacture of Portkeys quite as closely as they should. Ulrik appeared in Preseren Square within minutes.

Draco, rumpled and edgy, glared at the goblin. He was short and lean with an angular face, a description that would've covered his entire race. He had a wide mouth with thin lips, which were moving quickly as he spoke rapidly with Hermione in Gobbledegook. Draco decided he hated the pointy little bastard when his witch hugged the usurious wretch.

“Can you understand them?” The blond hissed to his lover. Theo shook his head, sidling closer so they could both stand in the scant shelter of the statue. Hermione had dragged them out of bed, told them to dress warmly and to pack quickly. They'd done so. Theo stuffed his hands into the pouch pocket of his hoodie and tried not to feel like a marsupial. The Muggle garment was ridiculous but it was cosy.

“She didn't bring Crookshanks. Something's gone wrong.” He wasn't at his best in the grey morning. He needed the clarity of light or dark. Gloom made him remember Azkaban. The rain helped, oddly enough. It might be icy and bucketing but they were definitely not cloistered. Thunder boomed. His head felt full of echoes.

“The toadstool seems happy enough.” Draco muttered. He wanted to be in his soft bed with Theo's arms around him and nothing more challenging in the day than choosing between croissants or crepes for breakfast. His stomach growled at thought of food. Hermione would have some. She was always squirreling things away or bringing home odd trinkets. “Why didn't Mother Apparate here with us?”

“I think we are about to do something very illegal.” Theo mused, having been considering the same question. Narcissa would've accompanied her son through the Veil if that were where he was going. Her absence now, gone off in the midi-van ostentatiously mundanely, made him wonder if she were giving them an alibi. There was space enough in the Muggle vehicle for all six of them and the menagerie.

The goblin left. Hermione straightened, taking a deep breath. Ulrik had been expecting something like this since they had begun opening the vaults. He had counselled her not to approach Marchbanks directly, to wait until the government was in shambles before stepping in as a saviour. Conditioned not to expect gratitude from the wanded, he hadn't been surprised to be informed the Ministry had bitten the hand that had tried to feed it.

“Let's get out of the weather.” Hermione held out her hands to Draco and Theo. They disappeared.

They reappeared with a splatter of stowaway rain on a rocky path leading to an arched gate in a heavy stone wall. Ahead and above, a castle nestled in an outcrop of sandstone with the sun sparkling off copper spires. Hermione gave at the knees subsiding onto the grass as her head spun. She probably could have waited longer in Ljubljana but with the Trace on her wizards she hadn't wanted to hang about.

“Welcome to Bulgaria.” Hermione said, inhaling slowly. She had been pushing her Apparition distance with both jumps. Of course, she was chuffed she had done got them to Plovdiv but she wasn't anxious to do that again. Drawing her wand, the witch sent her Patronus with a message to the castle then smiled wryly up at Draco and Theo. “At least here you'll be able to fly.”

Viktor Krum came out to meet them wearing a singlet and shorts, sweating from a morning run. Theo thought he looked more angry than surprised as the Quidditch star offered their witch his arm and escorted them into his family home. Defensive wards dense enough to be obvious even to the suppressed washed over them. Grindelwald had been only the latest despot in Bulgaria's tumultuous history.

They had breakfast in a wood panelled room lit by windows on three sides with a view of the valley below. And the sky, an eternity of it. Draco had eyes only for the blue. He couldn't have said what he ate even under an Imperius. Theo divided his attention between their host, their witch, and the French toast laden with jam. Krum didn't say much as Hermione brought him up to speed with recent events.

“Longbottom warned you?” Theo asked, recalling the rangy Gryffindor from the not-official-at-all visit. He couldn't bring to mind much more detail than the Auror's presence as he had been concentrating hard on feigning nonchalance. If there had been significant byplay between Hermione and her former Housemate, he hadn't noticed it.

“Neville's not happy with how the DMLE is being run. He joined because of his parents, and after the sword everyone sort of expected it of him.” Hermione had been supportive but had advised her friend to keep his options open. She'd seen what living in someone's shadow had done to Harry and Ron.

“Happy enough to enforce this.” Holding up his manacle, Theo battled not to sneer. Krum was a pure-blood and a decent chap, based on a vague impression from almost ten years ago, as well as their host. A proper wizard did not spit bile at the breakfast table. “I beg pardon. Bit of a sore spot.”

“It is understood.” Viktor raised a hand to forestall further apology. “The zadushavam rite is a heavy weight to carry.” He saw the boy's eyes sharpen. This one was clever, still with some fight in him. The pale one didn't have much left. Maybe the breeze would liven him but Viktor had seen that look in his uncles. A heavy weight.

“The Ministry used a variant of the punishment ritual Durmstrang uses, modified for longer duration.” Hermione had wondered at the source of the parolees' binding, which everyone was so sure was safe. Safe for whom? “It's an old working, picked for stability I'd guess. There aren't many work-arounds.”

“You are going to free our magic?” Theo asked, sounding as slow as Goyle to his ears. Hermione nodded. He sat back in his chair and bit down hard on the words that wanted to burst out of his mouth. Think first, he heard his father's counsel. Be lavish with your thoughts, meagre with your speech. “How?”

“There is a place of no magic. A Thracian salt mine said to be tainted by the blood of Ares.” His grandmother had loved telling all the old stories. Viktor had listened only when the weather was too bad for flying, leading to his baba scolding him and saying naughty boys who didn't pay attention went down the Devil's Wound. “When Hermione told me what had been done to you, I remembered that place.”

“If I had more information on the modifications made to the rite, I'd be more confident in picking it apart but given the hash the Ministry made of the IMP legislation, who knows what they've worked into the ritual.” She wasn't in all good conscience terribly thrilled by her solution to the suppression and said as much. “This is far from ideal. Smothering your magic after years in Azkaban could extinguish it entirely. I'd bet they didn't have a Curse-Breaker on hand to make sure the matrix formed properly or that the modal array bonded evenly or...” Hermione took a breath. “There are other options.”

“Would you wait, if it were you?” Theo rubbed his wrist. He'd dreamed of cutting off his hand, of watching the shackle fall to the floor, shattering and releasing him. He'd woken up with the cuff in his mouth, biting hard enough to make his teeth ache.

“No.” She had ruminated on that question for weeks while trying to find a way to free them. “We could find a Curse-Breaker or artisan who might be able to manipulate the binding but it would take months to undo the security on the manacles even before dismantling the suppression.” Hermione shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the next admission. “Before I resigned, I managed to get a look at some of the notations for the unbinding. They weren't complete.”

“The Ministry doesn't have a way to release us?” His voice was controlled, so precise it cut through Draco's enraptured contemplation of the sky. Both Slytherins listened closely to the witch's reply.

“According to the person who let me see the project, the Ministry had initially assumed despite the changes the unbinding Durmstrang uses would still work. That was not the case.” Hermione did not mention the name of the very worried person who had shared sensitive information with her. She tried not to even think of them, shutting their identity away in a corner of her mind where hopefully no Legilimens could reach. “I couldn't reveal what I knew without implicating my source but I could fight the legislation.”

“They would leave us like this?” Draco hissed, his face a porcelain mask.

“All of the parolees have to go through Integration. Given the goals of the IMP are to have you socialising amiably with Muggles, I'd wager they think that'll give them more than enough time to develop a functional deactivation for the suppression.” She heard her outrage begin to smoulder and took a long swallow of pumpkin juice to quench it.

“I want this thing off me!” His shout made them all jump, including Draco himself. He tore at the manacle as though he could yank it off by main force. Theo reached over to calm him but the blond jerked away. “Get off!”

“We'll go now.” Hermione decided. There were lots of reasons, so many sensible reasons, why they should delay to be more certain. Unfortunately, she couldn't be sure going to the mine would work at all. Simply turning the magic off for a moment might only be a brief respite but seeing Draco's rising panic, there was little else she could do.

Viktor took them to the Devil's Wound. He had flown there when Hermione had asked him to confirm it was a null not just an old wives' tale. His broom had begun to fail near the hillock that hid the entrance so he had marked that point of fading and walked the rest of the distance. The mouth of the mine looked like nothing more ominous than a dent in the rock, half-grown over. It hungered, though, and he had been cautious in approaching.

He Apparated to the fading point then explained what he had found. A long slope down through pale stone stained the colour of dried blood. The ceiling was low and the incline steep, winding down for perhaps five hundred yards until opening into a series of alcoves. His Lumos had blinked out at the second alcove, beyond that he could tell them nothing.

“I was sick for a day, not puking but ill, after. My wand was sluggish too. Better now but the effect lingers.” Viktor stood at the spot he had marked with a small cairn so he would know it to Apparate. “I think leave your wand here and the cunning little bag. I will stay. It was lucky I left my broom here the first time. I could not have willed myself home.”

“Good idea.” Hermione fished around in her beaded bag for three flashlights, three canteens, climbing rope with carabiners, a first aid kit, a stopwatch, a backpack with bright reflective tape criss-crossing it, and three bicycle helmets. She doled out the gear then showed Theo and Draco how to fasten the helmets. “They're not rated for caving but better than nothing.”

“It really was down to you that the wunderkind didn't die.” Theo marvelled.

“Harry was the hero. I was the one that remembered the toilet paper.” She said briskly, hiding her appreciation. Hermione entrusted her wand and beaded bag to Viktor. “Give us thirty minutes. I'd like to limit our exposure.”

“If you are not back by then I will fetch cousin Leonid and he will find you.” Viktor agreed, standing guard for their return. Hermione hugged him before girding herself for unpleasantness. If Krum the Seeker, top athlete and Tri-Wizard Champion, had felt ill after entering the null, she anticipated being very poorly. She set an alarm on the stopwatch and clicked it, beginning the half-hour countdown.

The effect near the entrance was not obvious. Hermione had faced Dementors and horcuxes. Compared to a Dark artefact, the magic dead aura was subtle. She looked to the wizards flanking her before she stepped inside. Theo shrugged and Draco gestured impatiently for her to lead on. Neither seemed much affected.

While she knew it was iron oxide staining the halite and not the spilled blood of a war god, science provided only partial cover against the ambiance of the place. Hermione kept her flashlight trained on the ground minding each step as they descended. The dark became oppressive and the null pernicious. She paused when she felt the first moment of breathlessness, checking the stopwatch. Less than ten minutes.

“How are you feeling?” Hermione asked. Her voice didn't echo. The air was dry with a metallic tang. She hoped this experiment worked as psyching herself up to revisit the mine would be a chore. This was not a place you lingered.

“Fine.” Theo panned his 'torch' over the dirty red streaked pale stone, the colour reminding him of how he had imagined mudblood to look. “It's a bit stuffy.”

“Krum was right about the ceiling.” Draco had bumped his head, jolting him out of his careful mantra of 'thirty minutes'. In less than half an hour, he might be free. He tried to be positive about this jaunt but it was a labour not to succumb to depression. So few things had gone right in his life he didn't have many happy thoughts to draw upon. Azkaban may well have robbed him permanently of cheer.

“You don't feel it?” She wet her lips then struggled against the urge to spit at the salty taste. Hermione gritted her teeth at their head shakes. The suppression had so dulled their magical perceptions they couldn't sense the torpefying atmosphere. “Right. Let's not hang about.”

Picking up her pace despite a growing instinct to rabbit, the witch continued down the slope. Her flashlight worked fine. No moody flickering or film noire slow fade. There wasn't a lot to see. The mine hadn't seen large scale production so the hand-cut tunnel didn't branch much. They reached the first of the alcoves, likely dug to take advantage of a salt bloom when the cave was damper, and Hermione paused to take a drink.

“Why cousin Leonid?” Theo asked, seeing her pallor. He didn't care about Krum's relative. He didn't care for the way the Bulgarian looked at their witch or her ease with him. That the Seeker was muscular with eyes of jet and a slow, soft smile didn't endear him to the English wizard. The Durmstrang boys had all been enticing if you liked them rugged. That was beside the point. Hermione looked intensely uncomfortable and he hoped to distract her with his question.

“He's a geologist.” She replied after swallowing slowly. The water was a bit stale from being in the canteen for a while though it blessedly did not taste of salt or iron or darkness. Her heartbeat sounded very loud to Hermione. “Leonid is doing spelunking surveys for his Ph.D. Fascinating, really. He just came back from cave diving in the Yucatan.”

“A Squib?” He was surprised Krum was so open about a non-magical cousin. Not the sort of connection a high profile athlete would want, surely.

“Can we not?” Draco interrupted testily. “I want to shuck my chains.”

Hermione nodded and pressed on to the second alcove, which was larger and deeper than the first. The shadows skittered across the rough walls disconcertingly like movement. The witch glared at the salt stone. It was hungry. Her legs were cramping. She felt an all over clamminess, light-headed as though her blood sugar had crashed.

“I would've liked to draw a protective ward but that isn't happening. I can definitely say the null magic is strongly in effect here. There's probably a polarised iron ore deposit beneath us, magnetite or something similar. Lodestone can cause lensing in the ambient...” Hermione truncated her discourse. Now was not the time. “Try pulling off the bracelets. If that doesn't work, they should be brittle enough we can use the wire cutters in my backpack.”

Draco didn't hesitate. He tore off the manacle and threw it away. A clattering noise as metal hit stone was all the response he got. Theo had bigger hands so easing off the shackle wasn't possible. Hermione got out the Muggle tool and with quite a bit of effort snipped through the circle so it could be stretched wide enough to come off. It too was tossed into the darkness.

Nothing happened.

The rings on Hermione's right forefinger slowly faded with no more than a tingle. They waited, checking the stopwatch, long enough to become restive and when still nothing dire or explosive occurred, the trio returned to the surface. They crossed the null border with minutes to spare. Viktor Apparated them back to his home.

Hermione sagged on arrival, a buzzing noise filling her ears. She waved the wizards away and sat down on the grass. It was nice grass, a soft chloe green. She liked it very much. The witch closed her eyes for a moment. That had been... the cave wasn't... not good... Hermione drifted off in a dizzy, headspin, not seeing Draco and Theo collapse with her.


	10. Two-Up

Draco woke with a warm sense of contentment. He smiled not opening his eyes, snuggling further into his blankets. The shift brought his face into a patch of sunlight and he grumbled, rolling over unwilling to surrender to the morning. He would have to rise eventually as Father insisted the family breakfast together but until one of the house elves prodded him, he could linger abed. Nice warm bed.

Very warm bed. He kicked off some of the covers and shifted again, encountering someone who smelled and felt unmistakably of girl. Draco sighed. If Pansy had snuck into his room again, Mother would not be amused. She had told them both off for indulging in their childhood habit of sleeping together though she had not informed either of their fathers. He nudged his companion, who didn't rouse.

Draco muttered a word his mother would certainly inform on him for using and sat up, opening his eyes not to find himself in his bedroom. He stared at the walls half panelled in oak with floral paper above. The soft greens and blues were to his taste and he couldn't object to the décor. Whoever had abducted him had good taste.

He slid out of the bed carefully then stumbled, unaccustomed to the length of his legs. Draco stared at his bare feet. They were larger than he recalled. Hastily examining himself, he discovered a bristling chin and a stranger's night attire. Borrowed silk pyjamas did not seem to indicate kidnapping. Had he and Blaise got rat-arsed on his stepfather's liquor and stumbled through a floo? It had been done before. Father had not been amused.

The unshaven chin was an anomaly. Walking like a newborn colt, Draco made a circuit of the room, finding a panel that led into a small bathroom. The mirror above the sink gave him more questions than answers. He was still himself, just older and tired and thinner. Had he been cursed? The Weasel twins had made aging potions to get their names in the Cup. He wouldn't put it past them to tamper with the food.

Draco rubbed his face and noticed a ring of reddened skin around his left wrist. Pushing up his sleeve to investigate the damage, he saw. He saw... He shoved his sleeve down hurriedly. But he wanted it, didn't he? Just like his father. His destiny. A mark of his family's pride, a testament to their adherence to tradition. Respect.

He staggered out of the bathroom and leaned against the wall, chasing the breath that had seemed to leave him in a rush. Needed to calm down. Needed to compose himself. Draco gulped for air and after a bit the hammering in his chest eased. Pansy would know what was going on. He'd ask her, clandestinely, then figure out where he was. The important thing was to pretend he already knew so he wouldn't be at a disadvantage.

Feigning aplomb, Draco returned to the bed. He hesitated when he noticed long brown hair on the pillow. Not Pansy. Daphne perhaps? That would be awkward. She was betrothed to Marcus Flint and his former team Captain held grudges. Besmirching his affianced would definitely merit a worse beating than losing a Quidditch game to Potty.

“Good morning.” He shook a bump in the bedding he presumed to be a shoulder. “We've slept in.” That seemed a socially neutral remark. “Wake up.”

“Go away.” The muttered reply did not sound like Daphne. She always affected a soft, ingratiating tone very much at odds with her personality. Draco prodded again and was rewarded with the witch sitting up abruptly, glaring and rumpled.

“Granger.” He was so surprised it wasn't even a question. It was Granger, not Pansy or Daphne. Granger looking quite a bit more um in a singlet. Draco hastily snapped his eyes to her face. “What are you doing here?” He demanded, too astonished to sneer.

“Did it work?” Hermione brushed hair off her face. She hadn't braided it before going to sleep so now it was triffiding everywhere. He stared at her, grey eyes wide in an oddly smooth face. The tension in him had gone. He looked disconcerted and somewhat offended but the bone-deep fear had gone. Was that a good sign?

“What have you done?” Draco knew that old fool Dumbledore had given his extra-special Muggle pet something last year. She been more insufferable than usual. And this year! Bloody Potter at the World Cup. He warned them. Tried to. The Dark Lord was rising. Risen. His lungs felt white as his breath left him again. Draco grabbed at the bed to steady himself, his legs betraying him.

He ended up sprawled half on the floor, half in Granger's arms after she lunged to catch him. She smelled of violets and iron, which was such an absurd combination that he wondered if he were dreaming. Perhaps he and Blaise really had been at the whiskey and now he was lying sottish hallucinating how nice it was to be held by a witch who cared for him.

“Yesterday, I presume it's yesterday, we went into a salt mine. You, Theo and I. Do you remember?” Hermione asked slowly, trying to piece together her own recollections. She helped him onto the bed so he could lie down. He was sweating, his breathing too rapid. “We're in Viktor's house. You're safe.”

“It was dark.” What a stupid thing to say. Anywhere could be dark. Draco stared at the canopy and Hermione above him. “I don't know.” He tried to be calm about this. He did know, didn't he? He didn't think she was lying. He didn't want to believe her but he did. He didn't want to remember but it was trickling back. “The manacles.”

“That's right.” Hermione rubbed his hands suddenly gone cold. “We broke the binding in the null. Tried to, anyway.” She glanced about for her wand, spotting it on the bedside table. Reaching out for it, the wood snapped into her grasp as though anxious to return. “Just hold this. See if you can sense any connection.”

Feeling ridiculous for feeling shy about touching a witch's wand, he wrapped his fingers around the shaft and tried hard not to think inappropriate thoughts about Theo. Hermione and Theo. Hermione and Theo and him in bed. When warmth spread up his arm, Draco was relieved for the distraction. He was unprepared for the reaction from Hermione.

“I can feel your hand on my wand.” She spoke slowly, carefully, deliberately to make a simple observation without alarming him. The witch clenched her hand, still feeling the polished surface of her wand against her palm. “Lumos.”

The wand in Draco's hand lit brightly. They stared at it.

“Nox.” The blond said then sighed with relief when the light on the wand's tip extinguished. “Lumos.” It worked again, the tingle of magic commonplace as though the energy had never left him. He felt a little dilute, for want of a better word. A bit thin or spent but nothing extraordinary. “Thank Merlin.”

“Nox.” Hermione pensively watched her wand dim. “There's a lingering connection. Maybe the suppression caused a feedback loop.” She'd need to do some research into linked rituals as used by covens. “We'll get you and Theo wands and then we can be proper fugitives.”

“Thank you.” Draco handed her wand back. “A life debt, no argument. This is so much more than anyone has ever done for me.” He stopped, touching his mouth foolishly. The words were all there. They lined up and came out without him having to fight each one. He was shaky and tired and exhilarated and needed to relieve himself. Very poetic, he smirked. A poignant moment indeed.

They got up and did morning things. Theo showed up fully dressed, cheeks pink as Hermione was belting herself into a dressing gown. He rushed to her and embraced her, on the cusp of laughing and crying he was so ecstatic.

“I can feel the wards.” He told her babbling and not giving a damn if he sounded a lackwit. “I woke up and needed air so I went outside. There's a sheltered courtyard. I watched the sun rise and I felt the security provisions for the wards change from night to day. I was standing there with the magic on my skin. It's like I'm reborn.”

“Say Lumos.” Draco said, interrupting Theo's exultation.

“Lumos.” The brunet complied and grinned as his lover held up Hermione's lit wand. “Nox. Lumos. Nox.” He said quickly, laughing as the light went on and off. “I am the luckiest of men.”

“I'm glad you're happy but we do have some issues.” Hermione combed her fingers through her hair then grimaced when she hit a stubborn knot. She reclaimed her wand and cast a detangling charm. Both wizards yelped as their hair was pulled taut. Her hair was truculently resistant to most beauty spells. It unwound from itself reluctantly, leaving Hermione with a jumble of curls, and Theo and Draco massaging their scalps.

The parolees didn't care. They grinned through breakfast, through Viktor's mother Miroslava's explanation that the meal was actually a late lunch and even through the news they had been asleep for three days. Viktor had summoned a Healer after they had collapsed. The diagnosis of severe magical drain had seen them tucked up in bed, separate beds, with house elves minding them.

“I woke up with Hermione.” Draco was enjoying his banitsa and the yoghurt drink. He was enjoying everything on the table. His stomach raised nary a protest. Theo was tucking in too. Miroslava, who had raised four large sons, simply waved to one of the house elves for more food. No one left her table hungry.

“You go there. Comment dites-vous pristignal?” Madam Krum used the hodgepodge of Bulgarian, French and English she and her youngest son's just-good-friend usually spoke. Both witches were fluent in French however both wanted to learn the other's language. They could have cast translation charms but that seemed lazy.

“Apparated.” Hermione provided.

“The ghost word, da.” Miroslava reminded herself to write 'apparated' down so she remembered it. She wanted to use the correct terms and not sound like an uneducated peasant. “You Apparated to the room. You two, to her. We put you away but you return.” She glanced at the English witch, who mouthed the conjugation. “You returned. Many times.”

The trio digested the information with their meal. Miroslava answered as many of their questions as she could, sending for the Healer again so her guests could be reassured they were well. Which indeed they were. Their magical reserves were slowly percolating back to where they should be, there did not seem to be any lasting damage and considering what a suppression rite might have done in the Healer's opinion they were very fortunate.

As Hermione believed more in planning than luck, she bicycled into Plovdiv and searched one of the oldest cities in the world for an equally archaic relic; a public telephone. She found one outside a newsagent then spent a fortune in stotinki to call a flat in Andorra la Vella. Mme Valerie Morel answered with very crisp 'bonjour' on the second ring.

After an exchange of security phrases, Hermione said they were where she had said they would go and had done the thing, which had gone well thus far. Andromeda told Mlle Colette Roussel that there was a scandal in the English paper she would find interesting and a very short person had brought them an object. Feeling daft by this point, Hermione confirmed her intentions to go shopping then rung off.

There wasn't likely to be anyone eavesdropping on their communication but there were spells that could be used for blind surveillance sweeps. She had emptied her English house so nothing belonging to her would remain there. Unfortunately there simply hadn't been time to scour the cottage as thoroughly. Even a lone sock would be enough physical trace for a detection charm. Distance was their ally now.

Hermione cycled back to Viktor's house, walking her bike for the last leg up the hill so she could admire the view and the two wizards on broomsticks. They were whizzing around like five year olds on a sugar high, doing loops and barrel rolls. She could recognise some of the Quidditch manoeuvres despite trying to put the terminology out of her mind since leaving Ron.

Guilt tugged at her. Neville had stuck his neck out to warn her. That kindness could cost him his job or worse. The Ministry wouldn't send a war hero to Azkaban, probably, but she hadn't expected a dawn raid either. Maybe she could've stayed to talk it out. However, if she were taken into custody, Theo and Draco would be sent back to jail immediately. That might have broken them.

She waved as Theo corkscrewed down to skim across the grass, pulling up at a slightly safe distance from her. Draco was more daring, whooshing past at shoulder height before jumping off to land right beside her. They were both grinning at their own antics. Hermione rolled her eyes. Boys. They got bigger but they didn't grow up.

“Yes, yes, your broomsticks are very impressive.” She smirked, reckoning they could weather a little sarcasm if they were feeling this much better. Identical looks of smugness greeted her remark. “I let your mum know you're okay, Draco. She'll be here this afternoon. Ulrik got them a Portkey to Sofia, the city not my owl.”

“Why didn't they come with us?” His fingers itched to touch her. Draco had felt her absence; not crippling but ever-present.

“We didn't want to Side-Along so far with a child and Andromeda hasn't been to Ljubljana or Plovdiv. She would've been Apparating off determination alone. We thought it better she, Teddy, and Narcissa hide in Andorra as French nationals.” Hermione had wanted to limit the calumny too. If found, Andromeda could deny all knowledge of her house guests' sudden departure under cover of her own blameless excursion to the mountains.

“The Pyrenees have nodes of wild magic.” Theo had made a quiet resolution to learn as much as he could about binding rites so no one would ever fucking quell him again. It wasn't only that he was a prisoner in his own skin, he wasn't even himself without his magic. “Would that be enough to mask the Trace?”

“Local flux would make it difficult to pinpoint their location and neither of them have been using magic. That's why Andromeda drove. Narcissa has been wearing a lead box over her wrist we adapted as a dampener. Clunky but effective, we hope.” She became aware of both wizards edging closer to her. They'd started at an ordinary conversational distance but were now definitely within her personal space. “What?”

“Don't you feel it?” Draco asked. Giving in to the urge, he brushed his fingers down her arm and sighed at the tingle under his skin. The connection they had discovered that morning was not through her wand. “The mine did something. I actually feel happy.”

“I don't think it was the mine.” Theo put his hand on Hermione's on the handle of her pedal machine. “I have never been this contented. I thought the euphoria was a legacy from the return of my magic. It ebbed after a time this morning but it's returned with you.” Keeping his hand on hers, he reached out for Draco. With the circle compete, the three of them shivered at the lightning rush of shared energy.

“Well, shit.” Hermione said after the high eased when they all jerked their hands back. “That is definitely a complication. Viktor never heard of anyone at Durmstrang sharing a suppression rite. The school keeps the ritual for severe punishment, one step below expulsion.”

“Where is Krum?” Draco didn't try to keep the jealousy out of his voice. He was free and had shaken off the doldrums. He wasn't sure the depression wouldn't return like creeping rot so he wanted to have as much time with his witch and his wizard as possible. Viktor Krum was a wasp at his picnic.

“Since retiring, he's been working towards his Transfiguration Mastership. He has practical tuition on Wednesdays.” Hermione chose to answer the question civilly. She and Viktor were happy as friends. She was aware Miroslava would like them to be more, however the 'vibe' between them had always been platonic. A comradeship they both treasured.

“The Ministry must be looking for us. They'll question your friends.” Theo turned his mind from bitter envy at the Bulgarian's educational opportunities to more practical concerns. “Where are we going from here?”

“We'll get the shackle off Narcissa then I'll open some more vaults for the goblins. I hadn't anticipated being asleep for days.” She needed to get her hands on a Daily Prophet to see what Andromeda mentioned as 'interesting'. “Depending on the Ministry's response, we may be able to bunker down here. Like most of the European Ministries, Bulgaria is out of sorts with their British counterparts. We can ask for sanctuary.”

“I don't fancy hiding here for the rest of my life.” Draco stated then paused. He had expressed a preference, dismay at concealment, and a yearning for the future. He breathed in slowly and deeply. He was alive again, woken from nightmares. “I want to help.” The blond looked to Theo, who nodded. “We want to help. You shouldn't have to carry all of this alone.”

“I'm not alone. I may be the one complaining the loudest but there are plenty of other people as pissed off as I am wanting to change things.” Hermione assured and was reassured in turn by their intentions. “I appreciate the offer. There's a lot to do.”

The first thing they did was find a recent copy of a British newspaper. Miroslava took the Prophet, a holdover from her son's time in Scotland, and the Quibbler as her eldest son Rosen was an enthusiastic amateur magizoologist. Hermione started with the papers the day of her meeting with Marchbanks. There hadn't been an Evening Prophet and the Sunday Prophet was anodyne. Monday's edition had a screaming headline 'Granger Flees Justice'. The Quibbler countered this with 'Nifflers Kidnap Heroine'.

The content of the stories were roughly similar. The Prophet's prose was more purple, alleging she had been bribed to smuggle the Malfoy and Nott heirs out of England. The proof being their absence and their empty vaults. The Quibbler suggested she was being used by magical creatures to get gold, which was suspiciously close to the truth.

The daring dawn raid got a lot of coverage in the Prophet. There was rampant speculation about whether she had abducted Andromeda Tonks and the 'young heir to the Black fortune'. No mention of Auror leaks so Hermione hoped Neville's part in their departure had gone unnoticed. The Ministry was confident of finding the escapees with the Trace. The public need not be alarmed.

By Wednesday's paper, the public were being treated to the Marchbanks and Shafiq factions going at it hammer and tongs. When the Trace didn't immediately find the two parolees, questions were asked. An anonymous Ministry source told the Quibbler Hermione Granger had met the Minister the day before the issue of her arrest warrant. 

Under the influence of a three whiskey lunch, an idiot Wizengamot clerk suggested the Ministry would solve it's financial disaster by borrowing from Muggle banks then Obliviating the bankers. The Prophet and the Quibbler asked 'what financial disaster?' and the whole seething mess had burst forth into the public domain. Blame was being flung from siege engines and panic was rising. There had been a run on the London branch of Gringotts.

Hermione stopped reading at that point to call Ulrik. Theo and Draco continued with the newspapers, not at all pleased to see themselves described as 'feeble demented shadows bent to an ambitious woman's will'. Rita Skeeter was in hog heaven assassinating the younger witch's character. The Animagus was dropping names of all the wizards supposedly seduced by the Muggleborn's machinations, including Viktor Krum.

“How do you rate our chances claiming sanctuary?” Draco asked quietly.

“I'd rather not risk it.” Theo didn't know enough of the current political situation to lay odds. They might be safe for a while, with the Bulgarians stringing out extradition negotiations with the British until they got something they wanted. Ultimately, he believed they would be handed over as he and Draco were simply not worth an international incident. “Staying here isn't viable long-term.”

“You prepared to live as a Muggle?” With the identification Hermione had forged for them and their money in Muggle accounts, they could slip away into the mundane. The prospect made him feel sick. So soon after regaining his magic, he couldn't bear to neglect it.

“No.” The last heir of the House of Nott shook his head. “For a few days perhaps, to elude pursuit but not longer.” Theo reviewed their squat list of options. “I won't go back to Azkaban.”

“I'd rather die.” Draco stated without a speck of hyperbole.


	11. Handsome Dollar

They met by the lily lake in Borisova gradina. The Portkey had dropped the trio from Andorra in a sycamore grove near one of the side paths, allowing them to amble out to join the Muggles strolling through the park. Summer in Sofia was too beautiful for trouble and no one looked askance at the small group of tourists.

Andromeda had disguised the lead box on Narcissa's arm as a plaster cast and had insisted her sister not wear a robe. Seeing her son in cargo pants and a print shirt flanked by Theo in similar Muggle attire stilled any protest from Madam Malfoy. She was not going to cause a scene while they hopefully escaped the crowds before anyone started laughing at their garb.

That none of the Muggles did more than smile in passing struck Narcissa as odd. Miss Granger was in a scandalously short dress that showed her knees! They walked out of the public gardens without any mockery heading towards the University of Architecture, Civil Engineering and Geodesy. Cousin Leonid had a Visitor's parking pass, which had saved them having to circle the cultural precinct looking for a place to leave the SUV.

They climbed into the diesel behemoth Hermione had rented from a company that specialised in mountain tours and trekking. She had tried for a minivan but with the holiday season in full swing choice was limited. Teddy bounced in his seat between his grandmother and great-aunt, making car noises as they pulled out into traffic.

The two hour drive from Sofia to Plovdiv was occupied in conspiracy, entertaining a four year old, and weathering the psychic glare of an irate half-kneazle. Andromeda had disguised Crookshanks's carrier as a briefcase. However that did not alter the fact the tabby was In when he wanted to be Out. He yowled whenever the car took a corner but otherwise concentrated on mentally projecting his complete, utter, and total disapproval of being in a box in a moving vehicle.

Crookshanks did not forgive his witch for having him carted about like baggage until he was on a cushion in the solarium eating pilchards. He did condescend to allow her to pet him as she explained the process of unbinding to Narcissa. Viktor had borrowed a book detailing the zadushavam rite from his tutor and gave it over now for perusal.

“I spoke very private with Professor Hristova. She taught for many years at Durmstrang. She said the rite has only one way to undo it. A very precise way.” Viktor emphasised. The elderly witch had not been pleased to hear someone had tinkered with the ritual. “Madam Professor did not like the zadushavam because it must be so precise. She said it worked well but in discipline it is easy to be rushed, to be made cross.”

“Would the Professor be able to consult on my case?” Narcissa inquired. She did not want to go into the mine. She had visited too many dark places. The idea of it made her sick to her soul. If it were a choice between her magic and her peace... “I do not wish to rush. I will be content if we can foil the Trace.”

Project Obfuscation began in earnest. Miroslava Krum gave her guests unfettered access to the family library, taking a personal interest in their sanctuary application. While she had only tangential sympathy for the Malfoys, she was a traditionalist. She took pride in being a witch. Having a government take away that gift because they couldn't pay their bills was deeply offensive to the Bulgarian matron.

Theo steadily worked his way through the volumes on binding and infusion spells, rationalising that the act of putting something into something was similar enough to putting a lid on something they might find a useful clue on reversal. Draco assigned himself to tracking charms, diverging into hunting rituals and the vagaries of sympathetic magic.

When Sophia and Astrophel, Andromeda's owl, arrived from Andorra, Narcissa began a charm offensive on the Bulgarian Ministry, particularly the Head of the Magical Migration Department. Decorously flirtatious letters fluttered back and forth, the necessary secrecy adding a frisson of excitement to the slow process of persuading the bureaucrat to sponsor their cause.

Two of Viktor's older brothers had children Teddy's age so Andromeda took her share of child-minding so her grandson could spend time with other kids. She would have signed him up for daycare in Plovdiv but until he learned how to control his Metamorphmagus abilities, the little boy couldn't play with Muggles. Teddy didn't seem to mind and quickly picked up enough Bulgarian to argue with Viktor's nephews over who got to play with the toy Snitch.

When she wasn't chasing after boisterous miniature wizards, Andromeda kept everyone on an even keel. Losing her husband, daughter, and son-in-law had taught Mrs Tonks the value of family. She made certain no matter how important the next book, the next letter that the fugitives took time to relax and recharge. Narcissa complied because she hadn't yet recovered her health. Theo and Draco complied because they needed to reacquaint themselves with magic. Hermione complied because if she didn't, Andromeda would Full Body-Bind her and prop her up in the garden.

Hermione and Gringotts had been extremely busy. When the scandal of the true financial situation of the British Ministry had become public, the goblins had called in all outstanding loans for every Department. Then they had demanded the Wizengamot give safe passage to Hermione so she could present the debt recovery proposal without being arrested. What she was actually charged with changed day to day. Currently it was extortion, embezzlement, violation of custody, and abetting Death Eaters.

The Wizengamot agreed, they didn't have much choice in the face of bankruptcy, but twisted the knife in their choice of Auror escort. Harry, Ron, Neville and Dean met Hermione at Gringotts and stone-faced took her to the Ministry. She didn't try to talk to them. She stared resolutely ahead making eye-contact with no one. This wasn't how she wanted to help fix the country. However, if she was going to be cast as the Evil Queen of Numbers then she'd play the role.

Marchbanks wasn't there. The Chief Warlock informed her tersely that the Minister had been stood down pending an investigation into the mismanagement of Ministry funds. Hermione kept her face carefully neutral. She knew exactly what Kenelm Marchbanks had done and why he had reacted so badly to her offer. He had ordered his house elves to Gemino the Galleons he withdrew from his personal vaults then had exchanged the debased coinage for Muggle bullion, which he had used to stave off creditors.

House elf magic was sufficiently similar to goblin magic that the counterfeiting charms hadn't been triggered. Marchbanks hadn't used the cursed gold in the magical world so he hadn't alerted Gringotts. The real gold he had imported back into the magical world had been used to buy the Ministry time to pay its debts. No crime there either. The Minister probably wouldn't have faced anything worse than an ethics censure, if Hermione hadn't found out.

She had no clue what Marchbanks had been doing. If she had, she would never have approached him with a plan so similar to his own he must have assumed she'd been doing the same thing. It was only when a Muggle financial planner who had been helping her set up a currency exchange in Zurich had mentioned a series of frauds in the gold market that Hermione had become suspicious. When she had looked into it, she had realised what had been going on.

Her decision to immediately tell Ulrik had probably saved magical Britain from penury. The goblins would have let the country starve to get their revenge on the Minister. Not for defrauding Muggles but for besmirching the artisans who had made the Galleons. Goblins took their manufacturing very serious. Their craftsmanship was a point of pride. Having their work used like leprechaun gold would not be forgiven.

Hermione couldn't shake the feeling she had thrown Kenelm Marchbanks to the wolves. He had been trying to save the Ministry. She couldn't fault him for his motivation. That he was happy to steal from Muggles offended her but it wasn't an attitude that surprised her. Even after two wars, many perfectly reasonable people thought of Muggles as aliens. They were no more considerate of them than Hermione was of Marvin the Martian.

She'd made notes for a speech she didn't actually get to speak. The Chief Warlock barked a series of questions at her while flourishing the dossier she had given the Minister. Hermione confirmed the projections contained within were as sound as current financial markets could make them. She tried to add some reassurances that this sort of restructuring was fairly routine; paying off the highest interest loans first, negotiating with creditors, auditing and postponing capital works, and so forth. Her attempt at reasonable was cut off by a shouting match between incumbents and Shafiq supporters in the gallery.

A loud cadence from the gavel eventually quieted the dispute. There was some more brusque questioning, quite a bit of snide remarks on the goblins, more shouting then finally the resolution to accept her proposal passed by a narrow margin. Hermione was marched out of the chamber by the Aurors. Marched right out of the Ministry all the way back to Gringotts. Ron kept his temper in check until they were a pace inside the door before exploding.

“What the bloody Hell do you think you're doing, Hermione?” He demanded, his face as red as his hair. “Have you gone completely barmy?”

“I'm trying to free slaves and undo decades of fiscal lunacy. Which bit do you think is mad?” The witch asked tartly, feeling bruised from the whole experience.

“You ran off with sodding Malfoy! And his mother! And bleeding Nott!” Only Harry's steadying hand on his shoulder kept Ron from grabbing their friend to shake some sense into her. “You've chucked in any chance you had of working at the Ministry. You'll be lucky if you're let back in the country again.”

“I thought that might be a possibility.” Hermione tried for a conciliatory tone. “Someone had to do something.”

“Oh, you've done it alright.” Ron didn't repeat what his mother had said when they'd read in the Prophet that Hermione had fled France. He'd been genuinely worried Hermione had killed the ferrety git. When the story broke that she'd legged it with the two Death Eaters, Skeeter had crowed all over the front page and most of the editorial too.

“They're criminals, Hermione.” Dean said passionlessly, wanting to understand why she had absconded. “Whatever they've promised you or however much you think they've reformed, Nott and Malfoy are still criminals.”

“Draco and Theo and Narcissa and the hundreds of other parolees are people.” Hermione spoke as sedately as her former Housemate, hopeful he could comprehend her stance. “The magical world doesn't have a Declaration of Human Rights. So we have fucking offensive laws like the IMP. Dress it up however you like. People are being bought and sold.”

“They did worse!” Ron shouted, trying to get through to her. If he didn't know the Malfoys and Nott were suppressed, he'd be worried one of the bastards had cast the Imperius Curse on her.

“Who are 'they', Ronald?” She arched an eyebrow. “They did a lot of things during the war. They passed the Muggle-Born Registration Act. They sent children to Azkaban.” Hermione shook her head. “I've seen the court transcripts. I know exactly what Narcissa, Draco, and Theo did. I also know that at least six Aurors suspected of using the Killing Curse against Muggles were never charged. Don't forget that the DMLE towed the line when Voldemort held the Ministry.”

“Kingsley got rid of the bad apples.” Her preachy tone got right up his nose like it always did. Ron refused to back down. “Just because you're shagging those bastards doesn't make them goodies.”

The silence that allegation spawned spread like ripples in a pond. There weren't many people in Gringotts as after the run on the bank, the goblins had closed the doors to the general public. There were the usual security guards as well as several heavily armoured goblins who looked like they had absolutely no sense of humour. At Ron's slur, long-fingered hands dropped to swords.

“As it happens, I'm not shagging either Draco or Theo or indeed Draco and Theo.” Hermione said, pleasantly liberated from the need to be polite. She wasn't going to tear Ron a new one for that personal jibe but it did mean she didn't have to respect his feelings. “I might later, I'm not sure. I haven't given my private life much thought in between exsanguinating myself and spelunking.”

“Ron, that was uncalled for.” Neville was honestly more shocked that Ron would slander Hermione than by the suggestion itself. Triads were not uncommon among traditional families, particularly when sole heirs were disinclined to marry more conventionally. Magic called to magic, like energy to like. While he was surprised Hermione was compatible with the Slytherins, if it were so he would never believe she would be swayed from a righteous cause by their forked tongues.

“She's not thinking right!” Ron looked to his fellow Lions for support. He saw disapproval from Neville, discomfort from Dean, and dismay from Harry. All directed at him. “They're Death Eaters! For Merlin's sake, she could go to Azkaban for this!”

“I'd say Hermione knows she could go to jail. That's why the goblins insisted on safe passage. They're not going to contest your charges, are they?” Harry had heard all the arguments flying like hexes through the Ministry. You'd have to be deaf and Confounded not to know things were bad. No one was arguing about anything else. Crime was at an all time low as everyone held their breath to see if the ship of state was sinking.

“Not for a while, no.” Hermione conceded. “There's too much to do to fix all of the financial problems. Sorting out the scope of the debt will take months. My proposal is based off what's owed to the goblins. If anyone in authority has been idiotic enough to borrow from some other source, like foreign businesses or private estates, the situation could be even worse.” She'd had to choose between saving herself or saving hundreds of people in indentured servitude. “The IMP will go on hiatus. Anyone currently suppressed will be transferred to alternate accommodations. Anyone still in Azkaban will finish their sentences as normal.”

“And you'll be a wanted criminal.” Auror Potter pushed. 

“Been there, done that.” The witch shrugged.

An hour later in Bulgaria, she repeated much of the conversation she'd had with her friends. The response from the Slytherins was more restrained than the Gryffindors. Miroslava and Viktor, both of whom were becoming convinced magical Britain had collectively run mad, poured themselves another round of boza and shook their heads.

“What alternate accommodations?” Narcissa waded into the mess, concerned that Andromeda would be shunted off to some holding cell. They hadn't been caught yet but it was only a matter of time. Her sister might plead she was only involved in Miss Granger's schemes to protect her kin. Family loyalty wouldn't buy clemency, though.

“I rented a cruise ship.” Hermione explained placidly.

“A ship?” She looked to the Krums, imagining the Muggle witch borrowing Durmstrang's enchanted vessel.

“An ocean liner, one of the tourist ones.” Pulling out her beaded bag, Hermione fished a pamphlet from the depths and handed it to Narcissa. “Cruises are quite big business but the turnover in the ships means there are always less fashionable ones available for lease. This one has more than enough room for all the parolees and can be warded as a residence so the custodians don't have to stay there too.”

“Are we going there?” Draco looked at the shiny brochure over his mother's shoulder. The ship was sleek and white. Beyond that, he could not imagine the size or the accommodations. Muggles built that? “Where is it sailing?”

“I thought it could do laps around the British Isles. I hired an American tour company to run the ship. Apparently, the million magical people in the US rather like cruises.” She had been surprised by the lifestyle difference between the UK and the States. The North American wizarding population had boomed after Grindelwald's war while Britain had continued to steadily decline. “I hired a security company too. The DMLE budget is already in the red from overtime.”

“Are we going there?” Draco repeated, prodding what was evidently a sensitive spot.

“No. There are warrants out for our arrest. I won't have enough sway to do anything about that for quite a while. We'll have to wait until the Ministry is running properly again.” Hermione had brazened it out with her friends, bold slogans again, but she had to be honest with everyone in the hole with her. “Hopefully the Bulgarian Ministry will give us sanctuary. Otherwise, we'll go on the run.”

“As simple as that?” Theo asked gently. “You save them, again, and you suffer for it?”

“Our society is like a battered spouse. They don't want to remember how frightened they were. It'll take years before anyone is willing to risk anything. Having a loud-mouth stirring up trouble, someone who doesn't know her place?” Hermione shrugged. “I don't expect to be thanked, and honestly, I don't expect to belong. So I'll keep on doing right and eventually enough people will agree with me that I'll be let back in the club.”

“You could make concessions and hand us in.” Theo said it because Draco couldn't. The wizards shared the same thought but the words froze in the blond. He couldn't even suggest it.

“I don't think I could, honestly.” Her mouth curled into a smile of its own accord. “I quite like having the two of you around.” Hermione met Draco's questing grey eyes and Theo's speculative blue. “I remember our conversation in the attic.” Her cheeks went a little pink. Oh yes, she remembered. “The bond is mutual.”


	12. Sixpence in Her Shoe

There was a calendar on the fridge, one of the magnetic ones that came in the mail from realtors or politicians. Hermione touched her index finger to it and another day crossed itself out. Five other calendars, little useful rectangles holding pictures and notes, had all their days marked off. She was patient but she liked to keep track of the progress of her return to what was inexorably becoming another world.

Four years ago, she had sent a query to the Ministry after Jerome Shafiq stood down as Minister. Being photographed drinking champagne in a strip club in Ibiza while your constituents laboured under austerity measures was not a good move politically. Brutus Scrimgeour, nephew of Rufus, stepped in as a compromise candidate and continued the program of reforms.

Scrimgeour had replied with an offer to drop the extortion and embezzlement charges, and ensure a fair hearing on the custody violations. Hermione might have accepted that except the offer did not include any provision for the parolees. When she sent a request for a guarantee Theo and Draco wouldn't be sent back to Azkaban, the new Minister's response had been to withdraw his offer.

She'd used an anonymous owl from a postal service in Vilnius, which was nowhere near where they had been staying but the three of them had opted to move just in case. The active warrants for their arrest were priority enough for several Aurors that they had to shift bases regularly or risk being hauled back to Britain. Ron still insisted in angry letters that she should ditch the vipers and come home.

The Bulgarian Ministry had given sanctuary to Hermione Granger, Andromeda Tonks, Teddy Lupin, and Narcissa Malfoy but had refused to shelter Death Eaters. To guarantee the safety of their family and friends, Hermione, Draco, and Theo publicly left Bulgaria in the autumn of 2002 for the anonymity of Muggle Zurich.

Since then they had migrated around Europe as Gringotts and scholarship necessitated. The success of their venture into the Muggle stock market had made the goblins possessive of their trusted witch, ensuring the trio rarely had trouble keeping ahead of pursuit. Hermione's banking contacts also got them access to some of the most extensive private libraries in the continent, enabling the wizards and witch to further their education unfettered.

Almost unfettered.

“Would you like orange or pumpkin juice, Sagitta?” Hermione asked, pulling out sandwich fixings while her four year old daughter mused on the weighty question.

“Pumpkin, please.” She said decisively then waited somewhat patiently to be given a sippy cup. The little girl stretched up on her toes to watch her mother pour and tighten the lid but didn't grab when offered her drink. The compulsory 'thank you' was said in a rush as Sagitta dashed back to her very important colouring spread out on the living floor in a pool of sunlight.

Theo, sprawled on the sofa with a sleeping baby on his chest, smiled at his wife as she made lunch. There were still days when he woke up in the early morning gloom thinking he was in Azkaban. He suspected there would always be those moments of unreality no matter how spacious their bedroom or happy their life.

“Ham or chicken?” Hermione asked around a yawn. They took shifts, each rising for a different feeding but at four months Tiernan wasn't sleeping through the night. He napped better than his sister had, fortunately. They'd been so sleep deprived with Sagitta their magic had become erratic. Fortunately they had been in a remote part of Norway otherwise their neighbours might have noticed their house changing colours and walls randomly becoming invisible.

Theo's reply was forestalled by a susurrus of magic as a wizard or witch brushed against their wards.

The Malfoy-Notts did a variety of unusual things at the unexpected sound. Sagitta immediately ran to Theo to take hold of his shirt tightly. Theo drew his wand and holding the baby close with his other arm Apparated the children away before the first sign of trouble. Hermione ran to the bedroom, shook Draco awake then tossed him the 'go' bag as he grabbed his wand before following Theo to their pre-designated safe point.

Hermione Disillusioned herself and went to investigate the contact with their defences. Neither wizard liked this part of their security protocol but she had insisted that as the one without a Dark Mark, criminal record or Trace, she be the one to verify any intrusion. Besides, as she had pointed out to them when they had objected, she was trusting them to protect her children. That task took priority over everything else.

Something Hermione had not told her husbands was that she assumed far more people wanted to hurt them than wanted to hurt her. Death Eater sympathisers might wish to remove the uppity Muggle-born but people from both sides of the war had grudges against the Malfoys, and the Notts had been Dark Wizards for centuries with blood feuds spanning that long. Thus, trusting to chance, she went alone to the edge of the property.

Anticipating more wild magic with their second baby, they had moved into an isolated farmhouse in the Bohinj valley in Slovenia. Framed by the Julian Alps, their two hectares of meadow gave plenty of scope for flying and for seeing anyone who encroached. Hermione spotted the solitary intruder on the hiking trail that ran to the east. She watched him pace back and forth casting detection charms for a few minutes before she sent him a Patronus.

When Neville's silvery phoenix found her, she dropped the Disillusionment charm and strolled over to him. As proof-of-identity went, a Patronus was almost impossible to fake and definitely impossible to cast while under the Imperius. Hermione didn't think the efforts to arrest her were on the magnitude of sending ensorcelled agents to trap her but kidnapping wasn't beyond the scope of the people who still sent Howlers to the Bulgarian Ministry.

“Lovely place.” Neville remarked, eyes on the ground not the mountain vistas. “I think I saw an ash petal crocus on my hike up. Unusual to find in a cultivated pasture.”

“This part of the valley has been fallow since the Communist collectivism attempt failed in the early Fifties.” Their nearest neighbours, an old couple who farmed goats and made artisan cheese, had taken an interest in the foreigners who bought the former ski lodge. The Brankovics weren't curious people but they were chatty. “I expect some of the indigenous magical species have had time to reseed.”

“I've left the Aurors. Quit the Ministry all together.” He said, mostly to the grass. When she didn't reply, Neville looked up and saw only sympathy. “Took me longer than it should have and I'm still deaf in one ear from Gran but that's me done with all the bloody nonsense.”

“You didn't need to come all the way here to tell me. Andromeda forwards our mail, minus Howlers, from Sofia. All our correspondence goes through her.” Hermione paid Mrs Tonks a comfortable wage to act as her secretary though she didn't think of her as an employee. “Ron writes about every three months, usually after we've been in the newspaper.”

“Harry gave me your address in Sofia.” Neville agreed then raised and lowered his shoulders in a protracted shrug. “I have so much I want to say it seemed, I don't know, feeble to write it down. And I needed to clear my head. It's been hell in Britain. Scrimgeour is a new broom, alright. He's brushing off all the old scandals. Harry's in deep with him cleaning up the Ministry.”

“Too much, too fast?” She asked, aware that pure-bloods didn't really like change. Neville was hardly a snob but even the blood traitors had a siege mentality. He grinned, a little wryly.

“Needs to be done. Just glad it's not me.” He'd been on half-pay and double-shifts for ages, helping to clean up the mess. He was so done. “I'm not a bureaucrat or a politician. Percy's happy as a grig but Arthur took early retirement.”

“Molly said so when she wrote after I set her Tiernan's birth notice.” Hermione meant it only as a confirmation. Neville shifted uncomfortably aware of the gulf of years.

“That's how I found you, actually.” His eyes strayed to her midsection. “I saw a photo of you and your husbands at the Thaumaturgical Symposium in Udine. You were very, um, expecting.” She had looked happy standing between Nott and Malfoy, the wizards holding their Mastership diplomas. “I knew you'd never risk Apparating so far along. I thought you might be living in Italy. I went there and asked some of the people I know from the Consociatio Herbum.”

“Gossip, the scourge of privacy.” She shook her head. “Quite a few of the witches there were concerned we'd Floo or Apparate.” They hadn't said where they were living but they had reassured the concerned that they had driven. “So much advice.” 

“Signor Stregone mentioned he'd read Malfoy's Potions treatise, as the use of Red Vanilla Orchid as a stabilising aromatic had caught his attention.” Neville had been interested too and had read the published work avidly. “I noticed Malfoy used a lot of alpine plants as variant examples so that had me looking to the Alps. There aren't a lot of places where you can find Hladnik's scopolia and Triglav hawksbeard. I knew if I found a place where all three grew I'd be close.”

“Are you telling me you spent months trekking through the mountains based on a few references in a thesis?” Hermione asked with the air of someone who feared for a friend's sanity. Neville nodded unabashed “Well, I can put you in contact with a publisher if you want to share your notes.” That he had made a detailed survey of the flora during his hike was a given. “So, what now?”

“The House of Longbottom would like to offer felicitations to the Houses of Nott and Malfoy on the occasion of their bonding.” He had rehearsed that sentence until he could say it without wincing or gritting his teeth. “I hear Madam Malfoy-Nott is quite a witch.”

Later, Hermione would assert she had cried because of hormones. Once she had released Neville from a compulsive hug and mopped her face, she composed herself to send the 'all clear' to her husbands. The momentary nimbus of light that surrounded her made the ex-Auror raise his eyebrows. There had been speculation about how Hermione had broken the suppression but no one had any conclusive evidence to back their theories.

“We're working on dimming the light show.” Hermione informed him when Neville asked, after they had returned to the farmhouse and she'd reassured her husbands they weren't about to be arrested.

“It's only obvious when we use the link for active magic.” Theo said urbanely. He was willing to trust his wife that Longbottom was not a threat. For her, he could pretend civility. The formal congratulations on their marriage had helped too. It was a throwback to old ways but the acknowledgement from another heir of the Sacred Twenty-Eight mattered. It shouldn't, but it did.

“Or sex.” Draco added and smirked when Longbottom met his gaze with a level stare. “You must know Weasley still addresses his scribbles to Hermione Granger.”

“That doesn't surprise me.” Neville accepted a cup of Earl Grey from Hermione and chose not to see the glare the witch sent her husband. He smiled into his mug as the Slytherin muttered an apology before being banished to the nursery to change the baby. “Bonding ceremonies can heighten magic. More so for triads.”

“Actually, we did this to ourselves before we bonded.” Hermione confessed, sipping her fennel tea trying not to grimace. It did the job. It didn't have to taste good. “Our method for releasing the magic worked. Unfortunately the modified binding ritual had already created a feedback loop.” She made a circling gesture encompassing herself, Theo, and the absent Draco. “One of my sources says that's a continuing problem for all the parolees.”

“Your source must be very good if you know that. Shafiq didn't tell anyone, and when Scrimgeour briefed Harry it was very hush-hush. Who told you?” He had been informed of the complications with the suppression rite only because after he had ascended to the Longbottom Seat in the Wizengamot he had petitioned for the information.

“Percy Weasley.” She admitted to Neville's surprise. “He likes the Ministry's direction. He still hopes to make a career out of public service, but after working for Fudge his conscience is sensitised. The IMP didn't sit right with him.” 

“So he leaked the information to you, knowing you were arming for a crusade.” He turned the revelation over in his mind. When he had raised his own objections, he had been told firmly it wasn't his call to make. That hadn't sat right with him. Unfortunately, he hadn't had access to the data. The perpetually recurring question of 'could he have done more' surfaced like marsh gas from a stagnant pond. “It's hard to know what to fight when your enemy is paperwork.”

“It was little comments like 'for their own improvement' in the press releases that first got my back up.” Hermione went to the pantry and brought out a glass biscuit barrel. This action immediately got Sagitta's attention. The little girl materialised in the kitchen like a ninja as children could in the presence of sweets. Neville smiled at sight of her pointed little face and resolute chin. The strawberry blonde curls and bright hazel eyes were also an amalgam of her parents. Malfoy's daughter received her cookie graciously then returned to her crayons.

“You seem quite comfortable.” Neville ventured, accepting a home-baked biscuit to go with his tea. Theo took one too despite the presence of raisins. He campaigned for chocolate but until his forays into baking ceased to be charcoal, the Daughter of Dentists got her way.

“It hasn't been easy.” Charms Master Theodore Malfoy-Nott remarked when his wife hesitated for the sake of their privacy. “Draco and I were shattered. We didn't realise how badly until we went on the run. He and I couldn't stop looking over our shoulders. Couldn't sleep. Couldn't even attune to new wands.” He flicked his hand towards a book on the coffee table. It floated over to him. “Fortunately, we found ways around that problem.”

“We went Muggle completely for a year.” Hermione explained. The goblins had needed time to assess the vaults she'd opened. The currency exchange was easy but not the resolution of artefacts. Her own induction into Gringotts as a haznik'ha had required her to refrain from wand magic for months. “We picked fruit. Backpacked and stayed in hostels. The culture shock gave us all new perspectives.”

“Seeing how the other half lived freed us.” Draco asserted, returning to swap a powder fresh baby for a cup of tea and a biscuit. “No one gave a damn about the tattoos on our arms. No one, in fact, gave a damn about us at all. We could be anonymous. An Aussie sheila in Rome asked me how I bleached my hair so evenly.” He smirked. He had boggled at the time until the woman had laughed at his expression and bought him a beer. “None of the lies of our childhood matter.”

“What made you come back to magic?” Neville could understand the temptation to slip away quietly, to have no expectations put on you because of your parents, your name. All three Malfoy-Notts looked towards their daughter and smiled in varying degrees of fond indulgence.

“Muggle contraception isn't infallible.” The witch said blandly. She'd been worried and nervous and had made lists. So many lists. There may have been some panic too.

“We insisted.” Draco and Theo spoke almost simultaneously. Their eyes met then Theo ceded the floor to his husband. “We proposed. We suggested a bonding ceremony.” Hermione coughed something that sounded awfully like 'demanded'. The heirs of Malfoy and Nott chose to ignore her interjection. “A new life for the new life we had made, with everyone we could give.”

“They nag worse than I do.” Hermione unsuccessfully hid her affection for the wizards. “Then they roped Andromeda and Narcissa into badgering me to make honest men of them.” They had even persuaded Ulrik to advocate for their union by pointing out that as their bonding ceremony would not be recognised by the Heads of either of their families, Hermione could still use blood magic to open the vaults. In fact, the triad bond would boost her magic. She had caved when Draco had taught himself how to knit and scattered their flat with little booties.

“Do you want to come back to Britain?” Neville asked. “I have my family's Wizengamot Seat. I could put forward a bill to pardon you. It'd be a dust-up but I could do it.” It wasn't the same without Hermione. They needed her bossy voice reminding them it was the twenty first century. “Scrimgeour wouldn't put his own hand in the fire but he'd back me if I did.”

“I'd like to. Having the warrants hanging over our heads crimps what we can do. I don't want Sagitta's schooling interrupted every time we have to relocate.” Hermione sighed, conceding to herself the novelty of being on the run had well and truly worn off. “There's a lot more I want to do. We've got plans. It'd be nice to work openly, and not like we're some sort of magical Mafia.”

“Teddy starts Hogwarts next year. We'd like to be there on the Platform to see him off.” Draco saw Longbottom's unflattering surprise at his interest in the boy's education. “Edward Lupin is my cousin. He's family, and family is all that matters.”


End file.
